Last Saturday we celebrated my father-in-law's 70th birthday.
Seventy.
On some people 70 both looks and feels, ... well..., old. But on Jim, 70 takes on a whole new meaning. On him, seventy means character, integrity, love expressed, love received, gritty-dirt-under-your-fingernails-hard-work. Seventy years of being dependable, courageous, generous, silly. On Jim, 70 equals a life well-lived, an example to be followed and more good times ahead. There aren't many men like him. Not nearly enough, in fact. I'm proud to be his even if it's just by marriage. Because with my father-in-law, there is no "mine" and "yours". It has always been "ours".
In front of the old Sears building downtown where Jim worked for several decades.
At The Varsity. #46 waited on he and Dixie often.
In front of Turner Field, standing not far from where several of Hank's homeruns would have landed.
In front of the hospital where Brian was born.
Happy Birthday, Doddy! I love you so so much.
