Sunday & Mantovani

I can't adequately convey the significance of Dad's influence on my life. But on this Father's Day I'll try, via a tiny blog salute to a big man, Francis Anthony Surfaro.

Here's pix of Dad with me at my wedding. The first and most important man in my life taught me much, but let me give three examples of priceless impact on the road I'm traveling.

• On music: Dad worked five or six days a week while I was growing up, but never on Sundays. Long, lovely Sunday afternoons of macaroni and family visits included an assortment of albums on the phonograph. Mantovani, an orchestra conductor with family roots in Italian opera, was a "light music" favorite. We danced together in our living room and Dad would spontaneously burst forth with an aria or a quick performance on his violin. I've kept an assortment of his 78s and circa 1930s-40s gorgeous Italian Opera portfolio cases. Mostly I look at them but I've also played them (on a turntable we picked up at a local thrift store). Although an iPod is never glued to my ear, songs of all sorts drift in and out of my mind daily and I have my Dad to thank for this quiet, undercover enrichment to my soul.
• On Volunteerism: Growing up in Brooklyn I didn't have material wealth but oh boy, our house overflowed with people and richness earned by my parents through selflessness they shared with our community and church. Dad was a tireless volunteer. Clothes drives, filling food pantries for those less fortunate - anything to offer help as it was needed. I also remember his pouring over methodical spreadsheets created for the parish bazar. He would spend months in set-up, coordination with local business and organizing booths and inventory of goodies. So much marvelous stuff collected and donated for good! I've tried to follow what he demonstrated -- that it's important to give of yourself and that serving this way actually reaps great happiness.
  
• On Quality and Style: Dad worked at Bloomingdales more than 45 years at the Manhattan Lexington store. His name along with other WWII veterans is emblazoned on brass plaque by the elevators. He started in the Linens department and then moved into Furniture. Bloomingdales I'm sure introduced him to quality objects -- and I do know that the few choice material items we had in our home were absolute quality and personified strong design. To complement my grandmother's meticulously crafted dollies and tablecloths, we had several gorgeous European linens purchased from Bloomingdales (late 40s-50s?). Dad's suits and ties were impeccable (and of course Italian); my Mom's very few pieces of jewelry were again Italian, 24kt gold. On special occasions Dad brought home design magazines, antique books and strange objects (like a 19th century marble bust called Beatrice). He had a strong sense of style and conveyed that to me. Our glass table and chairs Dad gave to us for our wedding still magnify good craftmanship 36-plus years later. So now I know where I get my love of strong design, venerable first editions and unusual antique objects.
  

Dad as a youth won several awards in New York City for his violin performances. He also intended (as I see from his high school publication) to be an orchestra master. He was registered for the engineering program of City University of New York but his father's untimely death (from an automobile accident) tore away all those dreams, as my Dad needed to be the breadwinner for his mom and sister. No matter what his sacrifice in life, Dad personified optimism and leadership and belief in the power of individuals no matter what your class stature was. When I had my first job in journalism (radio producer for news show up at Riverside Church) Dad was there to drive me to my morning news assignment (3 am!), easing my fears and jump starting my career. Ah, I smile now, remembering those drives and our special talks, morning coffee and toasted corn muffins!

Dad, you were my good friend. So much to thank you for. You were a leader I admired, a musician of great talent. I wish you had been able to work in a profession that reinforced/recognized your talents, but, no matter, because your greatness did mark our world. I always will treasure and hold in safe-keeping your violin and Beatrice, the funky marble bust. Thank you for guiding me on to the right path.

Hurry Up, Bisbee!

Bisbee, our standard poodle, died in our arms this morning. We had taken him to the hospital for an operation on his cancer, but the doctor called us almost immediately to tell us that the cancer had spread and that there was nothing more they could do. Any remaining time (a couple of months, if that) would be a downward spiral and full of pain. So we called our son Brett back in New York, made a decision together, and then Leigh and I went back to the hospital to be with our dear friend.

Bisbee was happy to see us. We got kisses and gave him his favorite biscuits (one from each of us Leigh, Brett and I). Then we held him tight.

Now there is a horrible gash in our hearts and an emptiness in our home. But there also are strong memories -- 11 years of them!

Bisbee shared so much with Brett, Leigh and I. Importantly, Bisbee was a partner with us in our journey to this Sonoran desert we now call home. In fact, Bisbee and Leigh made the drive out here from New York. Stopping off for MacDonald hamburger lunches and Chili's dinners -- I know Leigh and Bisbee will forever recall the wonderful adventure they shared! When Bisbee arrived in Tucson, it took him a while to understand the cacti, the absence of grass and the critters. But he loved his walks, his fleece, his ball, looking out to the mountains and Tucson city in the distance, sharing the peaceful magic of a Tucson sunset with us on our patio each evening.

Back on January 29, 2008, at the time of Bisbee's first cancer operation, I wrote another post, worried about the possibilities of the cancer metastasizing but hopeful in his chances for recovery. Well, we have had more than another year with our precious Bisbee, one filled with love, laughs and many sunsets. How could we ask for more?

Blessings to our Bisbee! We know some part of your spirit will stay with us; I already felt your presence in our bedroom when I bent down to pick up your fleece. Now, as we move ahead physically without you., we'll push away the sadness. We'll smile and recall all the joy we shared together. And we'll see you again, good friend.

("Hurry up, Bisbee!" is a phrase of special meaning to Leigh, Brett, Bisbee and I. Happy memories!)