The Reindeer Keeper

  Sometimes when I think about my father, a simple thought comes to mind—his morning ritual when preparing his two pieces of toast. After buttering each piece, he’d smother them with Smucker’s Strawberry Jam. Then, he’d slice each piece diagonally. With the knife lying across the top of his plate, he’d then thoroughly enjoy every bite of his two pieces of toast with a hot cup of coffee. My father was a funeral director. If he had a funeral on any particular morning, he’d do the same routine. The only difference was he’d be sitting there in his dress pants with suspenders, his white dress shirt and tie. I don’t remember him ever spilling strawberry jam on his crisp white shirt. I do remember his hair meticulously in place and the faint scent of Old Spice in the air. One morning when going into the kitchen, I discovered he’d already been sitting there enjoying his toast and coffee. It's a morning I’ll never forget. It was the day after Christmas. I woke up on edge. I was being induc

 The photo shows my grandparents' farmhouse of long ago. The house was sold after my grandfather stopped farming the fields and the barn, that once housed chickens and cows and horses with kids running around playing, became silent and empty. That's when my grandparents built a smaller home on land that was part of the farm, big enough to house my grandparents and one of my aunts. But way before that farmhouse was sold I had so much fun with my cousins playing inside and outside that home. There was no TV. No internet. There were no video games. No cell phones. If there had been such things, there would have been no time to bother with them. Playing and pretending were top priority.  It never took much to amuse us. I remember one summer it just took a few pairs of scissors, some straight pins and used magazines and we were good to go for days, playing on the screened-in porch of that farmhouse.  I can't remember if it was an officially declared 'Club' we created. It