Got side tracked again, but I really need to explain the Tato part of the post for the 3rd of April. Incredibly, my father-in-law and my mom had the same birthday! And I miss him also but he died many years before my mother. He and my mother-in-law were the reasons why I learned to speak Polish. You see, you can live in Chicago and NEVER learn to speak English (even I am still working on it). Seriously, there are newspapers, grocery stores, places to work (where they worked) and shops, radio stations and even a TV station , all in Polish! Sad to say, I am mostly self taught in this language, although my father-in-law did give me two lessons (he wasn't real into teaching and figured that ought to do me).
Not being a "giver upper" (I make up new and fun words...if you need any, let me know as there are tons more available where these came from), I kept at it and could understand and be understood which just really underscores the awesome power of our God. You see, in order to speak Polish you have to be able to whistle and whistle well...in this I am most challenged and many have attempted to help me here and many have wrung their hands in despair! Actually, in order to keep up my Polish, I have that little widget here, so just click on it and you will hear all that whistling.
One of the most wonderful things about my late father-in-law was his marvelous sense of humor. He was loving and he was kind. Even when he was undergoing some of his many operations (severe heart problems) he would make the doctors, nurses and staff laugh by his cute, broken (sometimes shattered) English comments. He could even get my mother-in-law laughing when she was so scared, thus making everyone feel better. I always called him Tato which is Polish for dad. Heaven should be getting some cute joking around from his presence there. Thank you, Tato for the joy and laughter of your cute ways!
Now, I will finish this post with a little plea for Michael. I just mentioned that once again someone said they liked my hair (in a very nice comment). Here I go off into the wild blue yonder again, but you have to know that my Irish grandfather came from a family of all bright redheads, even the mom and dad. Of his seven children, not one was a redhead...then, of all the grandchildren, (only my mom did not want a redhead) only I got blessed with these tresses. Fortunately mom did not sell me to the gypsies and she decided the red hair was a pretty cool thing after a few people oohed and aahed, but sometimes I even forget about it except it's great to blame for my mischievousness! FINALLY, the plea for Michael (I know, you already forgot what I started out writing, but hey, it's good brain exercise). Michael said (with a whimper and possibly even a tear in his eye) that no one EVER says nice things about his hair, so can someone say something nice for this poor guy and his one or two hairs (just kidding, we know that rogaine really is working)???
P.S. I took a picture and edited my mom's post below so that there was something "special" in it.