Celebrating Father\u2019s Day<\/strong><\/h1>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.lyndalambert.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/05\/WBIV_PHOTO_DedicationPage_Parents-198x300.jpg?resize=198%2C300\")
<\/a><\/p>\nWilliam Joseph and Esther Kirker McKinney. 1943<\/strong><\/h3>\nHolding their first baby – Lynda Jeanne McKinney.<\/strong><\/h3>\n <\/p>\n
In Memory of William Joseph McKinney (1916-1988)<\/strong><\/em><\/h3>\nIn Memory of Esther Luella Kirker McKinney (1920 – 2007)<\/strong><\/em><\/h3>\nFrom\u00a0your \u00a0Daughter, Lynda<\/strong><\/em><\/h3>\n <\/p>\n
How do you celebrate Father\u2019s Day in your family?<\/h4>\nWhat special things do you do to honor or memorialize your Father?<\/h4>\n
<\/p>\n
Father\u2019s Day can be overwhelming<\/strong><\/h2>\nto those who have lost their Father.<\/strong><\/h2>\n <\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
As an Artist \u2014<\/strong><\/em><\/h2>\nMy Father lives in the paintings I created.<\/p>\n
I honored my father by painting 2 pictures of him.<\/p>\n
The strange thing about them is that in both paintings my father is standing and looking out towards something in the distance in a landscape. The pictures are not traditional portraits. They are not posed. You never really see his face, but you feel his presence. He is watching\u2026something. You see him from behind. You are watching my father, as he is gazing off into his private thoughts, alone in his world. It feels like you are a voyeur, standing at a distance behind him. Yet,\u00a0 you are keeping an eye on someone who is not aware of your presence.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I was born in August 1943. Two weeks after my birth, my father was drafted into the Army. It was World War II. He had to leave his wife and baby daughter. He was sent to fight the Nazis in Europe; he would not see me again until after my 2nd<\/sup> birthday.\u00a0 Perhaps, when I painted him, I was feeling the distance between Father and Baby Daughter.\u00a0 Something I carry inside of me my entire life.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n
As a Writer\u2014<\/strong><\/em><\/h2>\nI create pictures of my father using words.<\/p>\n
A sensitive reader can see him through my eyes, as I speak about him. My Father enters into my world of memories and personal, unspoken thoughts in a number of poems, stories, and journal notations.<\/p>\n
My Father lives on in the pages of my first book<\/p>\n
Concerti: Psalms for the Pilgrimage<\/a>\u00a0<\/strong>(Kota Press, 2003)<\/p>\nThis is a full-length book of poems, stories, journal entries, and historical notes.<\/p>\n
My Father is there, among the pages of my book.<\/p>\n
My father lives on every time a reader begins to read my stories.<\/p>\n
\nJournal Entry, July 8, 1999 (Concerti: Psalms f\\or the Pilgrimage,<\/em> p. 20)<\/p>\nWe hold up our umbrellas and weep together for joy<\/p>\n
In the presence of Austria. Have we come home at last?<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I begin to draw once again. Draw for my life.<\/p>\n
Draw to create a memory to stay with me<\/p>\n
When long winter days try to make me forget Summer, and Austria.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
But for now, begin to make a list \u2013 things that will be<\/p>\n
The beginnings of a poem \u2013 many poems.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
We remember today that we have lost our fathers and<\/p>\n
The orange fields remind us of our loss. I will return<\/p>\n
Alone after dark and close the rose curtains. (Walking by Inner Vision,<\/em> p.20)<\/p><\/blockquote>\n <\/p>\n
__________<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I wrote several\u00a0 short poems after Dad’s\u00a0 sudden death on Saturday morning, July 16, 1988<\/p>\n
Sometimes we are unable to describe an even so tragic that we have no words.\u00a0 I wrote several short poems about my Father\u2019s death. Each poem is a tiny fragment. At such times when we have suffered a tremendous loss, we see the world in small fragments. The entire picture is too hard for us to speak about. We are left with a shred at times like this.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Saturday Morning.<\/p>\n
My Father gave me<\/p>\n
a poem.<\/p>\n
Mother wept.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
__________<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
My father lives forever inside the pages of my 2nd<\/sup> book,<\/p>\nWalking by Inner Vision: Stories & Poems<\/a>\u00a0 (DLD Books, 2017)<\/em><\/h3>\n\u201cWilliam\u2019s Red Roses\u201d (p. 45)<\/p>\n
tells the story of a special gift Dad\u00a0 gave me when I was a young mother. This gift comes back to open up memories for me many years later. I think you will fall in love my father as you read this story.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Happy Father’s Day, Dad! I will love you for all eternity.<\/p>\n
____________________<\/strong><\/h1>\n <\/p>\n
\nSunday Sunshine..<\/strong><\/h3>\nSend this LINK to you<\/a><\/p>\nr FRIENDS, or, Re-Blog to your own blog.<\/a><\/p>\nWritten and published by Lynda McKinney Lambert, Copyright, 2018.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\nLeave a comment for me.<\/h2>\n
E-mail:\u00a0 llambert@zoominternet.net<\/a><\/p>\nBlog and website at:\u00a0 www.lyndalambert.com<\/a><\/p>\n
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.lyndalambert.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2011\/05\/WBIV_PHOTO_DedicationPage_Parents.jpg\")
<\/a><\/p>\nWilliam Joseph and Esther Kirker McKinney. 1943<\/strong><\/h3>\nHolding their first baby – Lynda Jeanne McKinney.<\/strong><\/h3>\n <\/p>\n
In Memory of William Joseph McKinney (1916-1988)<\/strong><\/em><\/h3>\nIn Memory of Esther Luella Kirker McKinney (1920 – 2007)<\/strong><\/em><\/h3>\nFrom\u00a0your \u00a0Daughter, Lynda<\/strong><\/em><\/h3>\n <\/p>\n
How do you celebrate Father\u2019s Day in your family?<\/h4>\nWhat special things do you do to honor or memorialize your Father?<\/h4>\n
<\/p>\n
Father\u2019s Day can be overwhelming<\/strong><\/h2>\nto those who have lost their Father.<\/strong><\/h2>\n <\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
As an Artist \u2014<\/strong><\/em><\/h2>\nMy Father lives in the paintings I created.<\/p>\n
I honored my father by painting 2 pictures of him.<\/p>\n
The strange thing about them is that in both paintings my father is standing and looking out towards something in the distance in a landscape. The pictures are not traditional portraits. They are not posed. You never really see his face, but you feel his presence. He is watching\u2026something. You see him from behind. You are watching my father, as he is gazing off into his private thoughts, alone in his world. It feels like you are a voyeur, standing at a distance behind him. Yet,\u00a0 you are keeping an eye on someone who is not aware of your presence.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I was born in August 1943. Two weeks after my birth, my father was drafted into the Army. It was World War II. He had to leave his wife and baby daughter. He was sent to fight the Nazis in Europe; he would not see me again until after my 2nd<\/sup> birthday.\u00a0 Perhaps, when I painted him, I was feeling the distance between Father and Baby Daughter.\u00a0 Something I carry inside of me my entire life.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n
As a Writer\u2014<\/strong><\/em><\/h2>\nI create pictures of my father using words.<\/p>\n
A sensitive reader can see him through my eyes, as I speak about him. My Father enters into my world of memories and personal, unspoken thoughts in a number of poems, stories, and journal notations.<\/p>\n
My Father lives on in the pages of my first book<\/p>\n
Concerti: Psalms for the Pilgrimage<\/a>\u00a0<\/strong>(Kota Press, 2003)<\/p>\nThis is a full-length book of poems, stories, journal entries, and historical notes.<\/p>\n
My Father is there, among the pages of my book.<\/p>\n
My father lives on every time a reader begins to read my stories.<\/p>\n
\nJournal Entry, July 8, 1999 (Concerti: Psalms f\\or the Pilgrimage,<\/em> p. 20)<\/p>\nWe hold up our umbrellas and weep together for joy<\/p>\n
In the presence of Austria. Have we come home at last?<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I begin to draw once again. Draw for my life.<\/p>\n
Draw to create a memory to stay with me<\/p>\n
When long winter days try to make me forget Summer, and Austria.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
But for now, begin to make a list \u2013 things that will be<\/p>\n
The beginnings of a poem \u2013 many poems.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
We remember today that we have lost our fathers and<\/p>\n
The orange fields remind us of our loss. I will return<\/p>\n
Alone after dark and close the rose curtains. (Walking by Inner Vision,<\/em> p.20)<\/p><\/blockquote>\n <\/p>\n
__________<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I wrote several\u00a0 short poems after Dad’s\u00a0 sudden death on Saturday morning, July 16, 1988<\/p>\n
Sometimes we are unable to describe an even so tragic that we have no words.\u00a0 I wrote several short poems about my Father\u2019s death. Each poem is a tiny fragment. At such times when we have suffered a tremendous loss, we see the world in small fragments. The entire picture is too hard for us to speak about. We are left with a shred at times like this.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Saturday Morning.<\/p>\n
My Father gave me<\/p>\n
a poem.<\/p>\n
Mother wept.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
__________<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
My father lives forever inside the pages of my 2nd<\/sup> book,<\/p>\nWalking by Inner Vision: Stories & Poems<\/a>\u00a0 (DLD Books, 2017)<\/em><\/h3>\n\u201cWilliam\u2019s Red Roses\u201d (p. 45)<\/p>\n
tells the story of a special gift Dad\u00a0 gave me when I was a young mother. This gift comes back to open up memories for me many years later. I think you will fall in love my father as you read this story.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Happy Father’s Day, Dad! I will love you for all eternity.<\/p>\n
____________________<\/strong><\/h1>\n <\/p>\n
\nSunday Sunshine..<\/strong><\/h3>\nSend this LINK to you<\/a><\/p>\nr FRIENDS, or, Re-Blog to your own blog.<\/a><\/p>\nWritten and published by Lynda McKinney Lambert, Copyright, 2018.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\nLeave a comment for me.<\/h2>\n
E-mail:\u00a0 llambert@zoominternet.net<\/a><\/p>\nBlog and website at:\u00a0 www.lyndalambert.com<\/a><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
In Memory of William Joseph McKinney (1916-1988)<\/strong><\/em><\/h3>\nIn Memory of Esther Luella Kirker McKinney (1920 – 2007)<\/strong><\/em><\/h3>\nFrom\u00a0your \u00a0Daughter, Lynda<\/strong><\/em><\/h3>\n <\/p>\n
How do you celebrate Father\u2019s Day in your family?<\/h4>\nWhat special things do you do to honor or memorialize your Father?<\/h4>\n
<\/p>\n
Father\u2019s Day can be overwhelming<\/strong><\/h2>\nto those who have lost their Father.<\/strong><\/h2>\n <\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
As an Artist \u2014<\/strong><\/em><\/h2>\nMy Father lives in the paintings I created.<\/p>\n
I honored my father by painting 2 pictures of him.<\/p>\n
The strange thing about them is that in both paintings my father is standing and looking out towards something in the distance in a landscape. The pictures are not traditional portraits. They are not posed. You never really see his face, but you feel his presence. He is watching\u2026something. You see him from behind. You are watching my father, as he is gazing off into his private thoughts, alone in his world. It feels like you are a voyeur, standing at a distance behind him. Yet,\u00a0 you are keeping an eye on someone who is not aware of your presence.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I was born in August 1943. Two weeks after my birth, my father was drafted into the Army. It was World War II. He had to leave his wife and baby daughter. He was sent to fight the Nazis in Europe; he would not see me again until after my 2nd<\/sup> birthday.\u00a0 Perhaps, when I painted him, I was feeling the distance between Father and Baby Daughter.\u00a0 Something I carry inside of me my entire life.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n
As a Writer\u2014<\/strong><\/em><\/h2>\nI create pictures of my father using words.<\/p>\n
A sensitive reader can see him through my eyes, as I speak about him. My Father enters into my world of memories and personal, unspoken thoughts in a number of poems, stories, and journal notations.<\/p>\n
My Father lives on in the pages of my first book<\/p>\n
Concerti: Psalms for the Pilgrimage<\/a>\u00a0<\/strong>(Kota Press, 2003)<\/p>\nThis is a full-length book of poems, stories, journal entries, and historical notes.<\/p>\n
My Father is there, among the pages of my book.<\/p>\n
My father lives on every time a reader begins to read my stories.<\/p>\n
\nJournal Entry, July 8, 1999 (Concerti: Psalms f\\or the Pilgrimage,<\/em> p. 20)<\/p>\nWe hold up our umbrellas and weep together for joy<\/p>\n
In the presence of Austria. Have we come home at last?<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I begin to draw once again. Draw for my life.<\/p>\n
Draw to create a memory to stay with me<\/p>\n
When long winter days try to make me forget Summer, and Austria.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
But for now, begin to make a list \u2013 things that will be<\/p>\n
The beginnings of a poem \u2013 many poems.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
We remember today that we have lost our fathers and<\/p>\n
The orange fields remind us of our loss. I will return<\/p>\n
Alone after dark and close the rose curtains. (Walking by Inner Vision,<\/em> p.20)<\/p><\/blockquote>\n <\/p>\n
__________<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I wrote several\u00a0 short poems after Dad’s\u00a0 sudden death on Saturday morning, July 16, 1988<\/p>\n
Sometimes we are unable to describe an even so tragic that we have no words.\u00a0 I wrote several short poems about my Father\u2019s death. Each poem is a tiny fragment. At such times when we have suffered a tremendous loss, we see the world in small fragments. The entire picture is too hard for us to speak about. We are left with a shred at times like this.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Saturday Morning.<\/p>\n
My Father gave me<\/p>\n
a poem.<\/p>\n
Mother wept.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
__________<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
My father lives forever inside the pages of my 2nd<\/sup> book,<\/p>\nWalking by Inner Vision: Stories & Poems<\/a>\u00a0 (DLD Books, 2017)<\/em><\/h3>\n\u201cWilliam\u2019s Red Roses\u201d (p. 45)<\/p>\n
tells the story of a special gift Dad\u00a0 gave me when I was a young mother. This gift comes back to open up memories for me many years later. I think you will fall in love my father as you read this story.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Happy Father’s Day, Dad! I will love you for all eternity.<\/p>\n
____________________<\/strong><\/h1>\n <\/p>\n
\nSunday Sunshine..<\/strong><\/h3>\nSend this LINK to you<\/a><\/p>\nr FRIENDS, or, Re-Blog to your own blog.<\/a><\/p>\nWritten and published by Lynda McKinney Lambert, Copyright, 2018.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\nLeave a comment for me.<\/h2>\n
E-mail:\u00a0 llambert@zoominternet.net<\/a><\/p>\nBlog and website at:\u00a0 www.lyndalambert.com<\/a><\/p>\n
From\u00a0your \u00a0Daughter, Lynda<\/strong><\/em><\/h3>\n <\/p>\n
How do you celebrate Father\u2019s Day in your family?<\/h4>\nWhat special things do you do to honor or memorialize your Father?<\/h4>\n
<\/p>\n
Father\u2019s Day can be overwhelming<\/strong><\/h2>\nto those who have lost their Father.<\/strong><\/h2>\n <\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
As an Artist \u2014<\/strong><\/em><\/h2>\nMy Father lives in the paintings I created.<\/p>\n
I honored my father by painting 2 pictures of him.<\/p>\n
The strange thing about them is that in both paintings my father is standing and looking out towards something in the distance in a landscape. The pictures are not traditional portraits. They are not posed. You never really see his face, but you feel his presence. He is watching\u2026something. You see him from behind. You are watching my father, as he is gazing off into his private thoughts, alone in his world. It feels like you are a voyeur, standing at a distance behind him. Yet,\u00a0 you are keeping an eye on someone who is not aware of your presence.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I was born in August 1943. Two weeks after my birth, my father was drafted into the Army. It was World War II. He had to leave his wife and baby daughter. He was sent to fight the Nazis in Europe; he would not see me again until after my 2nd<\/sup> birthday.\u00a0 Perhaps, when I painted him, I was feeling the distance between Father and Baby Daughter.\u00a0 Something I carry inside of me my entire life.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n
As a Writer\u2014<\/strong><\/em><\/h2>\nI create pictures of my father using words.<\/p>\n
A sensitive reader can see him through my eyes, as I speak about him. My Father enters into my world of memories and personal, unspoken thoughts in a number of poems, stories, and journal notations.<\/p>\n
My Father lives on in the pages of my first book<\/p>\n
Concerti: Psalms for the Pilgrimage<\/a>\u00a0<\/strong>(Kota Press, 2003)<\/p>\nThis is a full-length book of poems, stories, journal entries, and historical notes.<\/p>\n
My Father is there, among the pages of my book.<\/p>\n
My father lives on every time a reader begins to read my stories.<\/p>\n
\nJournal Entry, July 8, 1999 (Concerti: Psalms f\\or the Pilgrimage,<\/em> p. 20)<\/p>\nWe hold up our umbrellas and weep together for joy<\/p>\n
In the presence of Austria. Have we come home at last?<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I begin to draw once again. Draw for my life.<\/p>\n
Draw to create a memory to stay with me<\/p>\n
When long winter days try to make me forget Summer, and Austria.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
But for now, begin to make a list \u2013 things that will be<\/p>\n
The beginnings of a poem \u2013 many poems.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
We remember today that we have lost our fathers and<\/p>\n
The orange fields remind us of our loss. I will return<\/p>\n
Alone after dark and close the rose curtains. (Walking by Inner Vision,<\/em> p.20)<\/p><\/blockquote>\n <\/p>\n
__________<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I wrote several\u00a0 short poems after Dad’s\u00a0 sudden death on Saturday morning, July 16, 1988<\/p>\n
Sometimes we are unable to describe an even so tragic that we have no words.\u00a0 I wrote several short poems about my Father\u2019s death. Each poem is a tiny fragment. At such times when we have suffered a tremendous loss, we see the world in small fragments. The entire picture is too hard for us to speak about. We are left with a shred at times like this.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Saturday Morning.<\/p>\n
My Father gave me<\/p>\n
a poem.<\/p>\n
Mother wept.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
__________<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
My father lives forever inside the pages of my 2nd<\/sup> book,<\/p>\nWalking by Inner Vision: Stories & Poems<\/a>\u00a0 (DLD Books, 2017)<\/em><\/h3>\n\u201cWilliam\u2019s Red Roses\u201d (p. 45)<\/p>\n
tells the story of a special gift Dad\u00a0 gave me when I was a young mother. This gift comes back to open up memories for me many years later. I think you will fall in love my father as you read this story.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Happy Father’s Day, Dad! I will love you for all eternity.<\/p>\n
____________________<\/strong><\/h1>\n <\/p>\n
\nSunday Sunshine..<\/strong><\/h3>\nSend this LINK to you<\/a><\/p>\nr FRIENDS, or, Re-Blog to your own blog.<\/a><\/p>\nWritten and published by Lynda McKinney Lambert, Copyright, 2018.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\nLeave a comment for me.<\/h2>\n
E-mail:\u00a0 llambert@zoominternet.net<\/a><\/p>\nBlog and website at:\u00a0 www.lyndalambert.com<\/a><\/p>\n
What special things do you do to honor or memorialize your Father?<\/h4>\n
to those who have lost their Father.<\/strong><\/h2>\n <\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
As an Artist \u2014<\/strong><\/em><\/h2>\nMy Father lives in the paintings I created.<\/p>\n
I honored my father by painting 2 pictures of him.<\/p>\n
The strange thing about them is that in both paintings my father is standing and looking out towards something in the distance in a landscape. The pictures are not traditional portraits. They are not posed. You never really see his face, but you feel his presence. He is watching\u2026something. You see him from behind. You are watching my father, as he is gazing off into his private thoughts, alone in his world. It feels like you are a voyeur, standing at a distance behind him. Yet,\u00a0 you are keeping an eye on someone who is not aware of your presence.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I was born in August 1943. Two weeks after my birth, my father was drafted into the Army. It was World War II. He had to leave his wife and baby daughter. He was sent to fight the Nazis in Europe; he would not see me again until after my 2nd<\/sup> birthday.\u00a0 Perhaps, when I painted him, I was feeling the distance between Father and Baby Daughter.\u00a0 Something I carry inside of me my entire life.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n
As a Writer\u2014<\/strong><\/em><\/h2>\nI create pictures of my father using words.<\/p>\n
A sensitive reader can see him through my eyes, as I speak about him. My Father enters into my world of memories and personal, unspoken thoughts in a number of poems, stories, and journal notations.<\/p>\n
My Father lives on in the pages of my first book<\/p>\n
Concerti: Psalms for the Pilgrimage<\/a>\u00a0<\/strong>(Kota Press, 2003)<\/p>\nThis is a full-length book of poems, stories, journal entries, and historical notes.<\/p>\n
My Father is there, among the pages of my book.<\/p>\n
My father lives on every time a reader begins to read my stories.<\/p>\n
\nJournal Entry, July 8, 1999 (Concerti: Psalms f\\or the Pilgrimage,<\/em> p. 20)<\/p>\nWe hold up our umbrellas and weep together for joy<\/p>\n
In the presence of Austria. Have we come home at last?<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I begin to draw once again. Draw for my life.<\/p>\n
Draw to create a memory to stay with me<\/p>\n
When long winter days try to make me forget Summer, and Austria.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
But for now, begin to make a list \u2013 things that will be<\/p>\n
The beginnings of a poem \u2013 many poems.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
We remember today that we have lost our fathers and<\/p>\n
The orange fields remind us of our loss. I will return<\/p>\n
Alone after dark and close the rose curtains. (Walking by Inner Vision,<\/em> p.20)<\/p><\/blockquote>\n <\/p>\n
__________<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I wrote several\u00a0 short poems after Dad’s\u00a0 sudden death on Saturday morning, July 16, 1988<\/p>\n
Sometimes we are unable to describe an even so tragic that we have no words.\u00a0 I wrote several short poems about my Father\u2019s death. Each poem is a tiny fragment. At such times when we have suffered a tremendous loss, we see the world in small fragments. The entire picture is too hard for us to speak about. We are left with a shred at times like this.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Saturday Morning.<\/p>\n
My Father gave me<\/p>\n
a poem.<\/p>\n
Mother wept.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
__________<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
My father lives forever inside the pages of my 2nd<\/sup> book,<\/p>\nWalking by Inner Vision: Stories & Poems<\/a>\u00a0 (DLD Books, 2017)<\/em><\/h3>\n\u201cWilliam\u2019s Red Roses\u201d (p. 45)<\/p>\n
tells the story of a special gift Dad\u00a0 gave me when I was a young mother. This gift comes back to open up memories for me many years later. I think you will fall in love my father as you read this story.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Happy Father’s Day, Dad! I will love you for all eternity.<\/p>\n
____________________<\/strong><\/h1>\n <\/p>\n
\nSunday Sunshine..<\/strong><\/h3>\nSend this LINK to you<\/a><\/p>\nr FRIENDS, or, Re-Blog to your own blog.<\/a><\/p>\nWritten and published by Lynda McKinney Lambert, Copyright, 2018.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\nLeave a comment for me.<\/h2>\n
E-mail:\u00a0 llambert@zoominternet.net<\/a><\/p>\nBlog and website at:\u00a0 www.lyndalambert.com<\/a><\/p>\n
My Father lives in the paintings I created.<\/p>\n
I honored my father by painting 2 pictures of him.<\/p>\n
The strange thing about them is that in both paintings my father is standing and looking out towards something in the distance in a landscape. The pictures are not traditional portraits. They are not posed. You never really see his face, but you feel his presence. He is watching\u2026something. You see him from behind. You are watching my father, as he is gazing off into his private thoughts, alone in his world. It feels like you are a voyeur, standing at a distance behind him. Yet,\u00a0 you are keeping an eye on someone who is not aware of your presence.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I was born in August 1943. Two weeks after my birth, my father was drafted into the Army. It was World War II. He had to leave his wife and baby daughter. He was sent to fight the Nazis in Europe; he would not see me again until after my 2nd<\/sup> birthday.\u00a0 Perhaps, when I painted him, I was feeling the distance between Father and Baby Daughter.\u00a0 Something I carry inside of me my entire life.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I create pictures of my father using words.<\/p>\n A sensitive reader can see him through my eyes, as I speak about him. My Father enters into my world of memories and personal, unspoken thoughts in a number of poems, stories, and journal notations.<\/p>\n My Father lives on in the pages of my first book<\/p>\n Concerti: Psalms for the Pilgrimage<\/a>\u00a0<\/strong>(Kota Press, 2003)<\/p>\n This is a full-length book of poems, stories, journal entries, and historical notes.<\/p>\n My Father is there, among the pages of my book.<\/p>\n My father lives on every time a reader begins to read my stories.<\/p>\n Journal Entry, July 8, 1999 (Concerti: Psalms f\\or the Pilgrimage,<\/em> p. 20)<\/p>\n We hold up our umbrellas and weep together for joy<\/p>\n In the presence of Austria. Have we come home at last?<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I begin to draw once again. Draw for my life.<\/p>\n Draw to create a memory to stay with me<\/p>\n When long winter days try to make me forget Summer, and Austria.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n But for now, begin to make a list \u2013 things that will be<\/p>\n The beginnings of a poem \u2013 many poems.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n We remember today that we have lost our fathers and<\/p>\n The orange fields remind us of our loss. I will return<\/p>\n Alone after dark and close the rose curtains. (Walking by Inner Vision,<\/em> p.20)<\/p><\/blockquote>\n <\/p>\n __________<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n I wrote several\u00a0 short poems after Dad’s\u00a0 sudden death on Saturday morning, July 16, 1988<\/p>\n Sometimes we are unable to describe an even so tragic that we have no words.\u00a0 I wrote several short poems about my Father\u2019s death. Each poem is a tiny fragment. At such times when we have suffered a tremendous loss, we see the world in small fragments. The entire picture is too hard for us to speak about. We are left with a shred at times like this.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Saturday Morning.<\/p>\n My Father gave me<\/p>\n a poem.<\/p>\n Mother wept.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n __________<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n My father lives forever inside the pages of my 2nd<\/sup> book,<\/p>\n \u201cWilliam\u2019s Red Roses\u201d (p. 45)<\/p>\n tells the story of a special gift Dad\u00a0 gave me when I was a young mother. This gift comes back to open up memories for me many years later. I think you will fall in love my father as you read this story.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Happy Father’s Day, Dad! I will love you for all eternity.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Send this LINK to you<\/a><\/p>\n r FRIENDS, or, Re-Blog to your own blog.<\/a><\/p>\n E-mail:\u00a0 llambert@zoominternet.net<\/a><\/p>\n Blog and website at:\u00a0 www.lyndalambert.com<\/a><\/p>\nAs a Writer\u2014<\/strong><\/em><\/h2>\n
\nWalking by Inner Vision: Stories & Poems<\/a>\u00a0 (DLD Books, 2017)<\/em><\/h3>\n
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Sunday Sunshine..<\/strong><\/h3>\n
Leave a comment for me.<\/h2>\n