Tuesday, June 10, is my dad's 88th birthday. Even though he's not physically around anymore, I sense his presence. Sounds corny, I know, but I hear his voice as clearly as I ever did, even though I can't see him shaking his head in exasperation.
The photo here is my dad with my daughter. We had just left Iggy's Clam Shack in Warwick Neck, a couple days before Easter '05. A typical chilly mid April afternoon.
When I think of my dad, I want to head out on a little boat and set some lobster pots with someone who actually knows how to do that.
I'm looking for a quahog rake like the one dad used to pull up those blue creatures in the muck of low tide along the edges of Narragansett Bay. And I want to grind them up for chowder the way he did, catching them sleeping with their shells open in a bucket of salt water and getting the shucking knife in there to cut that muscle and toss the flesh into the old grinder attached to the kitchen table.
My dad made the best clam chowder in all of Rhode Island. He was a dedicated URI basketball fan, a Red Sox fan, and a good friend to many, many folks around town. The night before he passed away, I sat with him in his study and watched the Red Sox trounce the Orioles. The entire game right to the end. He never did anything "half-assed."
On Tuesday evening, I'll light a candle and ask a friend to play "Moonlight in Vermont" on the accordion. One of my dad's favorite songs. After that, I'll try my hand at one of his famous pierogi recipes. Maybe this time it will work!
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Thank you for commenting! I appreciate it. I'll get back to you as soon as I can! Peace, Meredith