Paladini Potpie

Adventures within The Crust!

Work of Art


OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERALike a good Irishman, he passed away on Saint Paddy’s day.

My dad liked to brag about the fact that he quit “cold turkey” and hadn’t had a cigarette in 40 years.  But he did everything else he could to abuse his body.  Bacon, eggs and fried potatoes every morning of his adult life. And way too much hard drinking. After successful heart surgery in January, dad’s body began to shut down. He spent the next six weeks in the hospital where he died.

familyWhen we knew he was close to dying, all of the siblings gathered from Mississippi, Texas, and California.  We stood around dad’s bed, holding his hands and having one of those sad unexpected family reunions. We all cried by turns, but mostly we laughed as the pictures tumbled through our collective memories.

“Remember the time dad did such and such…?”  “Remember the time…?”  “Remember…” Dad would have loved it. He would have added plenty of his own stories, but he was in a coma. We only hoped he could hear us and was enjoying the party.

He died early the next morning.

I’m the eldest of seven kids, and for most of my childhood we lived out in the country near Cincinnati, Ohio. My parents bought an old farm house on five acres of woods.  It was our “glass castle”.  With input from all of us, dad drew up detailed blueprints to convert the dilapidated place into our dream house. It had all kinds of clever little architectural whims and fancies.  It had innovative features far ahead of their time.  I remember feeling so proud when dad would show visitors the latest project, and they would always shake their head in amazed appreciation. 

We lived in the house as dad tore down walls and rebuilt the place room by room.  Some parts of it were finished with incredible detail…an aquarium built into the wall… Some parts remained ramshackle. “Remember that time the roof started leaking above the bed?”

Black plastic sheeting was the outer wall of the living room for months…  “Remember the time the neighbor’s pig came through the black plastic into our living room?”  

We lived in a state of construction for years, but we knew that house was going to be amazing when it was finished!  But it never was finished. So many things were never finished. Dad always struggled with drinking.

shelf 2He was a brilliant man, a millwright who could engineer plans for any kind of machine to do anything.  He was a whiz at mathematics, and artist with oil paint – his mural of a Chinese garden scene covered one dining room wall, while other walls of the room were raw sheetrock. 

Years later, all of this was reflected in dad’s workshop.  Orderly rows of baby food jars filled with nuts, bolts and screws. Three-pound coffee cans lined the shelves, neatly painted and labeled with dad’s clicking tape label maker. And unfinished projects were everywhere.

Clever, artistic, and a little quirky.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA000_0034After dad died we gravitated to his workshop and the reminiscing continued. My brothers pulled out little drawers and poked into cubby holes. They laughed and cried. Dad was one of a kind.

Later that afternoon, my brothers came home frustrated after their appointment with the funeral director. Dad had specified that he wanted to be cremated, but they didn’t like any of the urns the mortuary offered. “They were all too fancy. Dad wouldn’t have liked any of them! They just weren’t him.”

artThen one of them glanced up at the shelf of painted coffee cans.  “We ought to get a coffee can and paint it and just put him up here on the shelf.” 

I think he was joking but we all jumped on the idea.  Dad would have loved it. 

In something like a pilgrimage, my brother Brian went out and bought a new can of Folger’s coffee. I can still see him wiping out the coffee residue with almost sacramental reverence. 

They painted it with dad’s green paint, and labeled it with his name – ArtPicture 047

Dad was honored at his memorial service with all the honor due a Korean war veteran. We had a family flag ceremony in his front yard. My brother played taps on dad’s harmonica as my nephews brought the flag to half-mast. And Art’s half staffcoffee can was placed on the shelf in his workshop.

Nine years have passed. The workshop looks pretty much the same as it did when dad died, but it’s not a shrine. We always go out and “visit dad” when we visit my mom. The boys go out there and tinker around, making and fixing things with dad’s tools. Sometimes I go out and look at his books and papers and maps.  For all of us, the years have burnished the edges of hard, uncomfortable memories, and only sweetness remains.


Author: paladinipotpie

Welcome! My name is Andrena Paladini and this is a blog about family and love and faith and fun. I call it Paladini Potpie because a potpie is like an adventure in a crust. You never know what might come up, but it’s always going to be good! Think of the best potpie you’ve ever eaten…hot flaky crust holding a rich savory sauce and all kinds of pieces of meat and vegetables…and who knows what? As a family, we’ve chosen to live within the parameters of God’s love and protection. This is the crust of our Paladini Potpie. The crust never changes. Within this crust, the savory sauce of family love binds it all together. That is also fairly constant. But beyond the crust and the sauce we can add just about anything! Good ideas come our way and we’ve adopted and adapted them to add to what John calls our treasure box of memories. These stories and ideas from John’s treasure box of memories are the ingredients I’m putting into our Paladini Potpie. (Okay, so this ridiculous mixing of metaphors about treasure boxes and potpies is exactly what I’m talking about. Silly and ungrammatically correct. But both illustrations work… so we’ll mix them together and it’ll be just fine!) John and I have been married for 30 years. Our children have wonderfully doubled in number since David married Amanda, Monica married Dan, and Matthew married Sarah. And the newest little treats that have been added to our potpie are six adorable grandchildren - Ethan, Angelina, Nathan, Audrey, Maleia and Caleb! I hope you’ll subscribe to my Paladini Potpie blog, and keep up with all the fun new ingredients I add. Hopefully you’ll enjoy our stories and ideas, and find something you’ll want to put into your own potpie! Bon appétit!

5 thoughts on “Work of Art

  1. This is very encouraging for all to read; what an interesting explanation of days gone by. Especially for the new generations who are the extended families of your beginning days. ENJOYED as always!

  2. Thank you Andrena! I love you so much big sis!

  3. I have a few faint memories from childhood of visiting that “futuristic” house in Cincinnati and of your dad showing us his latest inventions. I was always amazed and somewhat inspired that maybe someday I might become an inventor. Later, as a teenager, I remember your family visiting our home in Lexington. Your dad took a sincere interest in an electronic project I was working on. I’ll never forget the way he encouraged me and the sense of confidence and accomplishment I felt as he praised my efforts. I have often wondered how much those kind seeds of inspiration planted into my young mind might have contributed to my subsequent 34 year career in electrical engineering. I was able to join Art’s “club of inventors” after all. Life long pursuits, for good or bad, can often be traced back to small incidents in our past – incidents that seemed commonplace at the time, but in retrospect were actually forks in the road profoundly changing everything to follow. I suspect your dad treated many people as he did me, unknowingly sending them on a better path by just being himself.

    • Wayne, this made me cry! I have several great memories of my grandfather, but the best ones were when he was encouraging my creative or “questioning” side. Out of conscious effort or not, he was always pushing me to think outside of the box. I am glad he pushed you too. Thanks again,

      • Sorry David. I didn’t mean to make anyone cry. But then, tears of joy born of fond memories are a good thing. It constantly amazes me how many seemingly insignificant memories that should have been long forgotten persist in our minds — itself a testament to a lasting influence we may have underestimated. I often wonder — What things in the past have I so casually said or done that, unbeknownst to me, had a life changing effect on another person, for good or bad? We mold our kids without even trying, for better or worse. For me, an ever increasing awareness of this subtle power we too often wield thoughtlessly and recklessly makes me all the more determined to always work toward the good, cautious in everything I say and do, never quite knowing which of my actions or words might be found stuck in someone’s memory decades from now — for good, or for bad.

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