My Dad

Written on the night and early morning of the 25th/26th after learning my father had passed away.

My Dad

A man who taught me to measure and measure and measure, then cut.

That any paper can be a great place to sketch out an idea...even the Sunday bulletin at church.  Folded in half vertically, then in his inside breast pocket to come home.

A man who added to my creativity, the use of big tools-fearlessly, but carefully.

When one is thinking, it is of value and important, as is the actual doing.

A man, as part of a small team, that changed the world from a handheld calculator to our modern computer.

From a golf caddy to a grocery clerk to a creative electric engineer.  A Kentuckian raised in the Hoosier state.

A man who taught me to count binary…with one, two, four, eight, kind of fundamental to dance steps, oh of course the language of the microchip.

In my packing for college, an argument occurred that the Pink Floyd ‘Darkside of the Moon’ belonged in Lubbock not Oregon, unless he wanted to buy his own copy.

A self proclaimed man that is a boogie master and a verbose restaurateur and then a contemplative thinker so much of the time.

A little vino, cheese (stinkier the better) and crunchy bread.  Tabasco sauce on the side, too.

Santa, Ernest Hemingway, Harold DEAN Toombs ~ He always did it his own way!

He was always doing his best.  He was “Schucking and Jiving”.

           

And of course he designed all this, by the way!!

                                                                                                                                By Liz Toombs

Bye Dad, from this eartly place.  You will be missed by so many.  LT