Traveling Man

I found an old document of Dad’s called “Cities Visited.” It listed all the cities around the world he’d visited and the years he was there. I immediately thought, “This needs to be in a database where it can be pulled apart and examined as the heirloom that it is.” (I’m afraid I’m what the British call an anorak. I get it from Dad.)

The “Cities Visited” list came from his computer, and was just one document among dozens — many of them diaries, and many of them filled with the minutia of Dad’s work life. He described his work days in such detail I wondered when he had time to do the actual work.

Luckily, among Dad’s writing there were true gems about family: Here’s one I found about Max:

Max had a great day in his ball game, which unfortunately I had to miss. Made an unassisted triple play – which could well be his last because it’s such a rarity. Max did it by catching a fly, tagging the base you’re guarding (because the runner had already left), and then running to catch the guy who was on 2nd who, by then, was trying to get back. Pretty slick.

I was happy to stumble across Dad’s recounting of that event because we still laugh about it to this day. And now, thanks to the obsessive record keeping gene bestowed upon me by my father, I know the date of Max’s infamous unassisted triple play: May 10, 2003. My twenty-nine year old son was 7 at the time. Six months later Dad would no longer be with us, and his mention about not being able to attend the game suddenly carried the weight of the limited time we have together.

That’s what diaries and lists sometimes do: Mark the mundane, then elevate it to something higher.

I thought of all the stuff of Dad’s before the computer existed. So I drove to Helen’s and dove into the scary treasure-trove of Dad memorabilia. Much of it tied directly to his “Cities Visited” list: Luggage tags, passports (five or six of them), hundreds of used sugar packets (sugar packets?) and matchbook covers from restaurants and hotels from around the world, foreign coins, currency, and stamps.

Then there were the cancelled checks, the old utility and telephone bills, stacks of receipts, handwritten vacation diaries written on the pages of his infamous pocket notebooks and then taped to larger pages in 3-ring binders. And, of course, box upon box of work documents. So much work. Dad loved to work. (That’s where he and I are different.)

I drove home thinking about the things I save and the journal I keep: What is it doing for me? Am I writing about what’s important? Am I learning anything from it?

One thing I did not see in Dad’s writing: Doubt. There was confidence and certainty in every sentence. Answers or direction for every challenge that arose. Dad didn’t waste words on things like that. Looks like I’ve found another area where he and I differ. 

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But let’s get back to Dad’s “Cities Visited” list — and my compulsive insistence that it be imported into a database.

I did it.

So if you’re a nut for lists like me … or Dad … click this button. (Use a computer though. Phones and tablets are too small and will only leave you disappointed.)