My grandfather would have been 87 today if he were alive. His essence is still a part of all of us and he still finds his way into topics of conversation, even though he’s been gone several years now. In fact, Rudi was just mentioning Lake Louise the other day and we laughed thinking about how Grampa visited there once. He was impressed by the size of the mosquitos and the stupidity of the man who tried to go swimming despite the signs saying the lake was too cold for that.

Memories that stand out:

• Sitting in his lap with my brother when we were little. He would draw us pictures — cars for Josh, and Indians (Native Americans) for me.
• The smell of wood shavings in his basement workshop.
• Keeping my eyes glued to the spedometer (and my foot off the gas) the one time I drove him anywhere.
• The dollhouse he made me — complete with electricity — and its accompanying furniture (wood block furniture when I was small and delicate pieces — tiny dressers with tiny brass drawer pulls or a four poster-bed).
• His sparkling blue eyes.
• How proud he looked whenever he talked about his family.

It’s not many kids who get the benefit of grandfathers after they’re grown, so I know how lucky I was — and am.

Happy Birthday, Grampa. We miss you.