mike aka pop
mike came in to my life when i was 18. he drove a beat up and battered blue pick up , wore plaid shirts and had an old golden retriever named sam. people sometimes ask me what i called him. although he really was a father to me in all the important ways, i always called him mike. when my kids came along, i joined in with all the grandkids and called him pop.
when he and my mom got married in 1980, he was in the process of building the mountain house at cooper spur. although the house was already half built, they changed the floor plan to accomidate his newly expanded family. one of the rooms remains a bit awkward since it was originally supposed to be a kitchen, but the house works well and holds many happy memories. i’ve always thought that the willingness to change something that was already in the process is a metophor for how mike gracelfully enfolded us into his life. “his bride” as he called my mom came as a package deal with three kids. even though he had little recent experience with teens, and none at all with teen girls, he willingly took on the challenge. there were some interesting times in those early years as he learned to live with young people who had opinions, busy lives and boyfreinds.
people meeting mike did not forget him.he was truely larger than life. he looked like a leprechan and had a million funny phrases and quirks that endeared him to you pretty quickly. he had a way of engaging anyone, and as we all know he could talk for hours and had many tales to tell. as an adult its has not been uncommon for me to run into peopel i haven’t seen in years, and after the usual pleasantries , they inevitably ask about mike.
i think he took great pleasure in tormenting me by talking with all of my environmentally conscious friends about logging and could be quoted saying “the only good tree is a dead tree”. i’ll never forget the gleam in his eye as he welcomed a group of freinds to the house one time when i was in my 20’s.after saying hello, he immediately invited them to the basement where he proceded to show off his cousin toms hunting trophys. the place looked a little like thesafari room in eastacada. i was mortified of course.
when i went through a short vegetarian phase he poked fun of me eating “rabbit food” . he teased me when i slept late telling me i saying “good afternoon, you better watchh out or you’ll get bedsores”. he commented pretty regulary on the “blue milk” served at our house.
the mountain house was a source of great pride for him . we had many happy times there. cider making parties, gingerbread house decorating parties, holidays . he hosted some mens weekends where it was he and his chingos only. i have heard that cards were played, steaks were eaten and bottles of scotch consumed. no doubt some tall tales were also told.
we always had a houseful there. while my mom rolled her eyes at the piles of laundry i always brought home from college along with at least 2 or three friends also toting bags of laundry, mike would regale everyone with stories about life in the woods, encounters with bears and other adventures he had had. he liked big roaring fires in the fireplace and when he was at the mountain house, one was always crackling. he loved having christmas up there. going out to get a tree was a big event . great care was taken to select the years tree. some years it was too tall for the room, but we put it up anyway .
the house on 29th holds many memories too. he had a desk in the turet room and often played solitare while waiting for calls , keeping track of what was going on up and down the street. he loved the view of the lights of the city from the masterbedroom. summer was a time of many lazy evenings floating the the pool. mike had a routine of taking a dip at the end of the day . he took great delight in watching the kids paddle around .the oldest 4 grandkids all got their first exposure to the water there, the same yellow lifejacket keeping them afloat.
his grandchildren were great gifts in his life. whenever he saw them his eyes lit up . he usually called them miss olivia ,mr max, miss ruby and miss hazel. over the years he dressed up as santa and the easterbunny , read books, attended school plays, art shows , tea parties , and birthday parties. he clapped for puppet shows and “performances” as we call them . i smiled when i came to pick up ruby one day and she was in the kitchen playing cards with him. it was not his usual game of gin rummy but rather , go fish. i’m not sure who won.
he and linda were the lone greeting party at the airport when i came home from china in 2003 with ruby at the height of the sars frenzy. he wasn’t letting something like little old sars keep him away from his newest grandchild . this was a guy who was shot down in world war 2 , had survived close calls in the woods and a heart attack.
pop loved to drive. he drove all over western oregon to his logging jobs, to visit his freinds and just for the joy and freedom that driving brought him. in the old days he had a cb, with the handle “ the dwarf” he was known for his battered vehicles filled with stuff for walking around in the woods and logging gear. when it was time for him to give that up, he fought tooth and nail. i’m pretty sure that when he “borrowed” lindas car a few weeks ago he was preparing to retake his drivers test. he really continued to live life on his own terms up until the very end.
its hard to say goodbye to pop, we will miss him always. but i’m certain where ever he is, hes driving a beat up truck, wearing a plaid shirt and has sam beside him.
when he and my mom got married in 1980, he was in the process of building the mountain house at cooper spur. although the house was already half built, they changed the floor plan to accomidate his newly expanded family. one of the rooms remains a bit awkward since it was originally supposed to be a kitchen, but the house works well and holds many happy memories. i’ve always thought that the willingness to change something that was already in the process is a metophor for how mike gracelfully enfolded us into his life. “his bride” as he called my mom came as a package deal with three kids. even though he had little recent experience with teens, and none at all with teen girls, he willingly took on the challenge. there were some interesting times in those early years as he learned to live with young people who had opinions, busy lives and boyfreinds.
people meeting mike did not forget him.he was truely larger than life. he looked like a leprechan and had a million funny phrases and quirks that endeared him to you pretty quickly. he had a way of engaging anyone, and as we all know he could talk for hours and had many tales to tell. as an adult its has not been uncommon for me to run into peopel i haven’t seen in years, and after the usual pleasantries , they inevitably ask about mike.
i think he took great pleasure in tormenting me by talking with all of my environmentally conscious friends about logging and could be quoted saying “the only good tree is a dead tree”. i’ll never forget the gleam in his eye as he welcomed a group of freinds to the house one time when i was in my 20’s.after saying hello, he immediately invited them to the basement where he proceded to show off his cousin toms hunting trophys. the place looked a little like thesafari room in eastacada. i was mortified of course.
when i went through a short vegetarian phase he poked fun of me eating “rabbit food” . he teased me when i slept late telling me i saying “good afternoon, you better watchh out or you’ll get bedsores”. he commented pretty regulary on the “blue milk” served at our house.
the mountain house was a source of great pride for him . we had many happy times there. cider making parties, gingerbread house decorating parties, holidays . he hosted some mens weekends where it was he and his chingos only. i have heard that cards were played, steaks were eaten and bottles of scotch consumed. no doubt some tall tales were also told.
we always had a houseful there. while my mom rolled her eyes at the piles of laundry i always brought home from college along with at least 2 or three friends also toting bags of laundry, mike would regale everyone with stories about life in the woods, encounters with bears and other adventures he had had. he liked big roaring fires in the fireplace and when he was at the mountain house, one was always crackling. he loved having christmas up there. going out to get a tree was a big event . great care was taken to select the years tree. some years it was too tall for the room, but we put it up anyway .
the house on 29th holds many memories too. he had a desk in the turet room and often played solitare while waiting for calls , keeping track of what was going on up and down the street. he loved the view of the lights of the city from the masterbedroom. summer was a time of many lazy evenings floating the the pool. mike had a routine of taking a dip at the end of the day . he took great delight in watching the kids paddle around .the oldest 4 grandkids all got their first exposure to the water there, the same yellow lifejacket keeping them afloat.
his grandchildren were great gifts in his life. whenever he saw them his eyes lit up . he usually called them miss olivia ,mr max, miss ruby and miss hazel. over the years he dressed up as santa and the easterbunny , read books, attended school plays, art shows , tea parties , and birthday parties. he clapped for puppet shows and “performances” as we call them . i smiled when i came to pick up ruby one day and she was in the kitchen playing cards with him. it was not his usual game of gin rummy but rather , go fish. i’m not sure who won.
he and linda were the lone greeting party at the airport when i came home from china in 2003 with ruby at the height of the sars frenzy. he wasn’t letting something like little old sars keep him away from his newest grandchild . this was a guy who was shot down in world war 2 , had survived close calls in the woods and a heart attack.
pop loved to drive. he drove all over western oregon to his logging jobs, to visit his freinds and just for the joy and freedom that driving brought him. in the old days he had a cb, with the handle “ the dwarf” he was known for his battered vehicles filled with stuff for walking around in the woods and logging gear. when it was time for him to give that up, he fought tooth and nail. i’m pretty sure that when he “borrowed” lindas car a few weeks ago he was preparing to retake his drivers test. he really continued to live life on his own terms up until the very end.
its hard to say goodbye to pop, we will miss him always. but i’m certain where ever he is, hes driving a beat up truck, wearing a plaid shirt and has sam beside him.
posted by chris at
8:36 PM
1 Comments
