Today is Remembrance Day. I’m supposed to be writing right now — blog posts, blurbs, emails, short story — but in straightening up I came across my little hardbacks of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through The Looking Glass.

My Dad bought them for me when I was a kid and he inscribed the front covers. It’s nice to have those almost twenty years after he passed away, and while my Dad and I weren’t close (my parents divorced when I was an infant and I rarely saw him) it’s a little reminder of him. He had an affinity for cozy coffee shops and anything old-fashioned. He was very proud of his family heritage and once told me he wanted to visit the Scottish Inner Hebrides, where his (our) ancestors came from to farm and fish in Northeastern Nova Scotia. He liked burning candles and he liked visiting small picturesque villages for vacation.

He didn’t have many books, but when he bought one it was probably used. The only book I remember being on his shelf was The Color Purple. Dad was the first one to take me into a small hole-in-the-wall used bookseller. I don’t remember where it was or the name, but I do remember plunking my ass down in the children’s section and having a mini frenzy. The book I walked out with was Beatrix Potter’s The Story of Miss Moppet. I still have this book but I rarely touch it because it’s starting to fall apart.

In a lot of ways I’m like my Dad and I’m reminded of that pretty much every day. Today I’m remembering him more than I have in a long time.