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Having been an only child, my father wanted to have lots of kids - I guess he had been lonely a lot. I remember him telling me about going on fishing trips with his folks and sitting alone in the backseat during the long journeys wishing there had been someone beside him. He grew up self-reliant, his fertile brain developing hobbies and projects to pursue. That unflagging curiosity and initiative continued to sustain him into adulthood and his career as an aeronautical engineer. When he became a father, his practice of solitary diversions provided a restful and stabilizing counterpoint to the bustling activities of our busy home. He would retire to the living room with his magazine or sci-fi book after dinner while the rest of us watched cartoons and bickered and did the dishes and our homework. His other retreat was to his bedroom where the built-in vanity for the 'lady of the house' had been transformed into his stamp desk, a wall of photographs and diplomas hanging above it where the mirror had been. Mom - not one for ritual self-adornment - easily gave up that throne, opting for a centrally located nook in the laundry room for her desk and phone. There she could keep one eye on all of us while doing the household accounts and writing countless letters. At his desk Dad would immerse himself in the world of stamps, making his own albums to hold them, creating pages for each series on sheet
s of notebook paper. He catalogued them by continents or countries - I can't recall his system - but they were in some order of color and sequence. Each page was ruled with boxes to hold the denominations of an issue with extra spaces for the ones he lacked. If a fresh stamp in an existing series came out and altered the layout of the page, he joyfully grabbed a ballpoint pen and ruler and laid out a brand new replacement page with enough slots to accommodate the increase. He was excited when 'Nifty Notebooks' came out in the early 60's, loving the magnetic flip around covers and their capacity to hold removable sheets as well as their special compartments for pens - plus the cheap price was impossible to resist! Gleefully he bought a dozen or 
more for himself and us kids. The notebooks were used by all of us, but we soon found their flaws. They popped open when dropped and pens and papers went flying, their colorful vinyl covers cracked over time from continuous exposure to sunlight and abusive schoolchildren. Before long, we returned to the old standard blue canvas three ring binders. Separated by section dividers with colored tabs, they held all of our class subjects and their fabric covers were less resistant to our ball point pen designs and messages than the slick vinyl had been. Dad never gave up on his, perhaps because they stayed at home safe in his cabinet, perhaps because they embodied his do-it-yourself approach to hobbies, perhaps because they were just so 'nifty'. His stamp world was a calming mental sanctuary where he could insulate himself from our chattering houseful of women. A morning person, he was up at the crack of dawn, dressed for work, drinking his coffee and watching 'sunrise semester' on TV, absorbing a wide variety of useful topics while the rest of us were fast asleep. Now that I am grown, I too am a morning person and have activities that I pursue in solitude while loved ones sleep. At times anxious for company, but more often at peace in my seclusion, planning the days and weeks activities, designing sculptures, solving newspaper puzzles, drinking coffee, my daily wake up routine is a legacy from my father. On visits home Dad and I would have our coffee in silence together as the rest of the household slowly came to life. Sometimes we would talk, but usually we would be quiet together - and that conversation was a richer brew.
Having been an only child, my father wanted to have lots of kids - I guess he had been lonely a lot. I remember him telling me about going on fishing trips with his folks and sitting alone in the backseat during the long journeys wishing there had been someone beside him. He grew up self-reliant, his fertile brain developing hobbies and projects to pursue. That unflagging curiosity and initiative continued to sustain him into adulthood and his career as an aeronautical engineer. When he became a father, his practice of solitary diversions provided a restful and stabilizing counterpoint to the bustling activities of our busy home. He would retire to the living room with his magazine or sci-fi book after dinner while the rest of us watched cartoons and bickered and did the dishes and our homework. His other retreat was to his bedroom where the built-in vanity for the 'lady of the house' had been transformed into his stamp desk, a wall of photographs and diplomas hanging above it where the mirror had been. Mom - not one for ritual self-adornment - easily gave up that throne, opting for a centrally located nook in the laundry room for her desk and phone. There she could keep one eye on all of us while doing the household accounts and writing countless letters. At his desk Dad would immerse himself in the world of stamps, making his own albums to hold them, creating pages for each series on sheet
s of notebook paper. He catalogued them by continents or countries - I can't recall his system - but they were in some order of color and sequence. Each page was ruled with boxes to hold the denominations of an issue with extra spaces for the ones he lacked. If a fresh stamp in an existing series came out and altered the layout of the page, he joyfully grabbed a ballpoint pen and ruler and laid out a brand new replacement page with enough slots to accommodate the increase. He was excited when 'Nifty Notebooks' came out in the early 60's, loving the magnetic flip around covers and their capacity to hold removable sheets as well as their special compartments for pens - plus the cheap price was impossible to resist! Gleefully he bought a dozen or 
more for himself and us kids. The notebooks were used by all of us, but we soon found their flaws. They popped open when dropped and pens and papers went flying, their colorful vinyl covers cracked over time from continuous exposure to sunlight and abusive schoolchildren. Before long, we returned to the old standard blue canvas three ring binders. Separated by section dividers with colored tabs, they held all of our class subjects and their fabric covers were less resistant to our ball point pen designs and messages than the slick vinyl had been. Dad never gave up on his, perhaps because they stayed at home safe in his cabinet, perhaps because they embodied his do-it-yourself approach to hobbies, perhaps because they were just so 'nifty'. His stamp world was a calming mental sanctuary where he could insulate himself from our chattering houseful of women. A morning person, he was up at the crack of dawn, dressed for work, drinking his coffee and watching 'sunrise semester' on TV, absorbing a wide variety of useful topics while the rest of us were fast asleep. Now that I am grown, I too am a morning person and have activities that I pursue in solitude while loved ones sleep. At times anxious for company, but more often at peace in my seclusion, planning the days and weeks activities, designing sculptures, solving newspaper puzzles, drinking coffee, my daily wake up routine is a legacy from my father. On visits home Dad and I would have our coffee in silence together as the rest of the household slowly came to life. Sometimes we would talk, but usually we would be quiet together - and that conversation was a richer brew.
