The table, we always gather here for pancakes. Dad's sour dough pancakes have been cause for feeding the masses. He did it so well. He was proud of his pancakes and they were a hit. Always sour, always filling, always a great expression of love. He taught Mary-Elizabeth to make them so the tradition will spread and be maintained. I have had issues with how they are made but will continue to try.
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Mom and I ate his pancakes on more than one occasion. We felt included in his love (and his humor). I'm not ready to write about him yet, he is too large in my thoughts to get my mind around, and probably I will have to reduce my words to several small writings. I plan to look through my pictures of Uncle John when I get home in February, and choose those that tell his story for me (a different, much smaller story than the ones his children know) but he is very large in my memory. I am so glad such we had some time together, he was a lovely man.
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