Today would have been Daddy’s 97th birthday. I planned on spending some time up at the Lagrange House and, while waiting for my headlight to be replaced, received a text that the power was out in the area due to high winds. Well, I texted back, I was up for an adventure. I think I was there ten minutes when the power came back on – long enough to light some oil lamps and a candle.

It was quite a blow and getting the car door closed was not the easiest thing. I had thought about starting a fire in the kitchen cast iron stove, but decided that was not the best idea, so I turned the gas wall heater up higher than Mother usually did – maybe a lot higher. (Mother always thought the pilot light heating level was adequate at night)

I’ve got a lot of books to inventory, but I decided to read in one of them. Then I got a call that I needed to get back to Kendallville and on the way, I saw crews out sawing up toppled trees. Up to this point, the wind has not brought down the walnut tree that a microburst lifted up about 10 years ago. It has been leaning at between 1:30 and 2 clockface time.

I think I originally meant to write about my father, but I guess I’ve probably said most of what there is to say in many earlier posts. But I feel it all the time, and today, in the house, with the books and the flickering kerosene lamps and the radiant gas fire, it was like being home together.

Oh, the Pershing is after General Pershing because he was born on the day after the Armistice.