For you, Dad

Yesterday, April 6, was my dad's 59th birthday. Another reminder of the near-miraculous grace of God, because this month also marks the 6th anniversary of his devastating diagnosis of Lou Gehrig's Disease (ALS). We quickly learned that 75% of all ALS patients die within 5 years (and we've learned a lot more since then, none of it particularly pleasant) -- but here he is, another year has gone by, and he's still able to talk easily with us and, even though singing, his favorite, is now very difficult, he did an admirable job of the "Watermelon Song" when I called him up a couple weeks ago and asked him to help me with the lines. I think he has a good shot at the big 6-0 ... but no year, or day for that matter, is taken for granted.

So Dad, if you figured out how to get my blog URL back into your bookmarks and are reading again, here's a story you'll appreciate. Remember when we visited in March and Eliza and Caroline were chanting that "Moses Supposes His Toeses are Roses" song from Singin' in the Rain? You thought it was so funny to hear Caroline, at 2, ennunciating so carefully the word "erroneously." Well this morning, she and Tim and I were out on the back patio and we pointed out to her the bud that's about to open on our rosebush. "It's about to turn into a rose," we told her. She immediately got that faraway look that tells you the gears are grinding and synapses are firing. "Roses? ... supposes his toeses are roses? Err-on-e-ous-ly?"

We cracked up, and here's the Gene Kelly original for you and everyone else: