Printing Press

My Dad, working the printing presses for Sunshine Press, Venice

I have been thinking lately about my love for the written word. The written and printed word, in bound books. It's no wonder I love printed and bound books. My Dad worked the printing presses for years. First, at Sunshine Press, where my Mom worked as well. Then, at the hospital for something like 20 years until they closed the print shop. I remember visiting him many times at the hospital print shop. It was a separate building across the street. The machines were huge, and loud, and the doors were always wide open to the outside to keep some circulation through the rooms.

Dedication page from one story I wrote using a journal Dad made.
Looking at my handwriting, this is probably from 5th grade.

When I was in Elementary and Middle School, Dad would use leftover colored paper to bind some blank journals for me. He knew I loved to write stories, and I used several of them, filling them with my fictional tales. It just casts more light on the love Dad had for me, and I wish....oh I wish I could sit and talk with him.

Today marks 2 years since we lost him, but it is in the everyday reminders that I think of him and come up with even more examples of ways he showed his love for me. The missing him doesn't go away. Time doesn't change that. But I reflect on the love he showed throughout my life and give thanks to God for such a man to be my Dad.