Now That's a Knife!

My husband was raised three blocks from the Pacific Ocean in Redondo Beach, California. He is not a surfer or a tree hugging liberal, but he is definitely a Californian through and through. Even though we now live in Colorado, we are still self-proclaimed weather wimps and the informal feel of shorts and a polo shirt could easily be John’s uniform of dress for the rest of his life.

               

When he married me, a Texan, he received some kidding from my siblings and especially my dad. 

“So you’re a Yankee?” My dad asked him with a hint of a smile.

“No, sir, I am from California.” John replied.

“Yankee.” Daddy stated this as if the matter were settled for all time.

                

At my father’s funeral, I am positive Daddy watched from heaven and let go that loud laugh of his. There was one particular moment at the funeral I am positive Daddy watched from heaven and let go that loud laugh of his. 

I have to back track for a minute.

We drove from San Diego, California to Van Horn, Texas for the funeral. On the way I drank Cherry Lime Sodas we had bought in San Diego and put into an ice chest.  I liked them poured over ice in a cup. To finish up this cocktail of choice I would squeeze a fresh lime on top and then put the cut up pieces of the lime into the drink. Just delicious! 

Round about Yuma, Arizona I decided to have my first Cherry Lime. However, we had no knife to cut up the limes. No problem, John indicated he would pick up a knife at the next gas stop.

              

And he did. He bought a 99 cent little pocket knife at a truck stop somewhere in Arizona. The little ¾ inch blade did the trick and I enjoyed my beverage of choice as we traveled through the desert.

Fast forward to the cemetery. We had just finished the short service and people were beginning to say goodbyes to those who had to leave immediately. Lots of hugs going around.

My stepmother asked a question about an arrangement someone had given. It was a welding helmet attached to flowers. (My dad was a welder.) “I would surely love to take the welding helmet home with me.  Let’s leave the flowers but I want to take the helmet home.”

                

A couple of folks proceeded to pick up the helmet. However, it was attached in some way to the big bouquet of flowers.

Loreen asked another question. “Does anyone have a knife to cut this?”

                

My husband is a servant. Of course he stepped up with five or six other men, and he proceeded to proudly pull out his 99 cent pocket knife to help out the poor widow.

As soon as he did, he noticed the other five or six knives. 

Not a 99 cent one in the bunch. Nope, these were knives three or four times larger than John’s lime slicing deluxe model.

Quickly as he could, John stepped back and as inconspicuously as possible slipped his knife back into his pocket.

                

From heaven above I am sure that my Daddy laughed. “Yankee.”