Mysterious Ways.. Taken from The Guideposts, and written by Barbara Altamirano The cupboards were empty. So were my parent's bookshelves, their closets, their dressers. The garage was...

BadFisherman Loc: Lake Whitney, Texas

Taken from The Guideposts, and written by Barbara Altamirano

The cupboards were empty. So were my parent's bookshelves, their closets, their dressers. The garage was crammed with musty boxes of books and dusty CDs, racks of clothes and stacks of dishes. Everything was ready for tomorrow's tag sale. The accumulation of a lifetime. My parent's house would stay in the family...my brother-in-law had bought it...but it wouldn't be the same without them there. I couldn't help feeling sad. There's be no more big-band music playing on the stereo and no more Chex mix baking in the oven.

Chex mix. The one and only recipe Dad knew. I had nearly broken down the last time I was here, not long after his funeral, when I pulled a stale box of cereal from the cabinet to throw away.

My Dad was from the generation that believed women did the cooking and men fixed things. But he loved that snack of cereal, nuts and pretzels, and Mom would only make it when company was coming. So he boldly tied on an apron and learned to make it himself. He dropped Chex from the name and just called it mix. You always knew what he was up to when that sweet and smoky aroma wafted from the kitchen.

"Dad's mixin' again," we'd say.

After Mom passed away, three years ago, Dad stopped mixin'. I wasn't sure why. I knew he was lonely living on his own. He ate with my family and enjoyed spending time with his grandkids. But I sensed a change in him. I suppose he'd felt the way I did now...as though nothing could be the way it was before.

My 11-yr. old daughter had come with me to help organize the last of my parent's things. I asked her to put a pair of shoes in the bedroom upstairs that was going to be my niece's.

She came back down with an odd look on her face.

"Mom, are you cooking something?" she asked.

"No, why?" I asked.

"It smells upstairs," she said. "Like the mix Papa used to make."

I went up to see. It hit me halfway up the staircase. That aroma. Sweet and smoky, filling the air the way it always did just before the oven timer went off. Chex mix. There was nothing in the cupboards or the oven, but now that he was reunited with Mom, Dad was mixin' again.

OJdidit Loc: Oak Creek Wisconsin

Great story, thanks for sharing

saw1 Loc: nor cal Windsor

BadFisherman wrote:

Taken from The Guideposts, and written by Barbara Altamirano

The cupboards were empty. So were my parent's bookshelves, their closets, their dressers. The garage was crammed with musty boxes of books and dusty CDs, racks of clothes and stacks of dishes. Everything was ready for tomorrow's tag sale. The accumulation of a lifetime. My parent's house would stay in the family...my brother-in-law had bought it...but it wouldn't be the same without them there. I couldn't help feeling sad. There's be no more big-band music playing on the stereo and no more Chex mix baking in the oven.

Chex mix. The one and only recipe Dad knew. I had nearly broken down the last time I was here, not long after his funeral, when I pulled a stale box of cereal from the cabinet to throw away.

My Dad was from the generation that believed women did the cooking and men fixed things. But he loved that snack of cereal, nuts and pretzels, and Mom would only make it when company was coming. So he boldly tied on an apron and learned to make it himself. He dropped Chex from the name and just called it mix. You always knew what he was up to when that sweet and smoky aroma wafted from the kitchen.

"Dad's mixin' again," we'd say.

After Mom passed away, three years ago, Dad stopped mixin'. I wasn't sure why. I knew he was lonely living on his own. He ate with my family and enjoyed spending time with his grandkids. But I sensed a change in him. I suppose he'd felt the way I did now...as though nothing could be the way it was before.

My 11-yr. old daughter had come with me to help organize the last of my parent's things. I asked her to put a pair of shoes in the bedroom upstairs that was going to be my niece's.

She came back down with an odd look on her face.

"Mom, are you cooking something?" she asked.

"No, why?" I asked.

"It smells upstairs," she said. "Like the mix Papa used to make."

I went up to see. It hit me halfway up the staircase. That aroma. Sweet and smoky, filling the air the way it always did just before the oven timer went off. Chex mix. There was nothing in the cupboards or the oven, but now that he was reunited with Mom, Dad was mixin' again.

Taken from The Guideposts, and written by Barbara ... (show quote)

WOW BF, good one buddy.

Huntm22 Loc: Northern Utah. - West Haven

Brought tears! Thanks for the stroll down memory lane.

badbobby Loc: Humble Texas

BadFisherman wrote:

Taken from The Guideposts, and written by Barbara Altamirano

The cupboards were empty. So were my parent's bookshelves, their closets, their dressers. The garage was crammed with musty boxes of books and dusty CDs, racks of clothes and stacks of dishes. Everything was ready for tomorrow's tag sale. The accumulation of a lifetime. My parent's house would stay in the family...my brother-in-law had bought it...but it wouldn't be the same without them there. I couldn't help feeling sad. There's be no more big-band music playing on the stereo and no more Chex mix baking in the oven.

Chex mix. The one and only recipe Dad knew. I had nearly broken down the last time I was here, not long after his funeral, when I pulled a stale box of cereal from the cabinet to throw away.

My Dad was from the generation that believed women did the cooking and men fixed things. But he loved that snack of cereal, nuts and pretzels, and Mom would only make it when company was coming. So he boldly tied on an apron and learned to make it himself. He dropped Chex from the name and just called it mix. You always knew what he was up to when that sweet and smoky aroma wafted from the kitchen.

"Dad's mixin' again," we'd say.

After Mom passed away, three years ago, Dad stopped mixin'. I wasn't sure why. I knew he was lonely living on his own. He ate with my family and enjoyed spending time with his grandkids. But I sensed a change in him. I suppose he'd felt the way I did now...as though nothing could be the way it was before.

My 11-yr. old daughter had come with me to help organize the last of my parent's things. I asked her to put a pair of shoes in the bedroom upstairs that was going to be my niece's.

She came back down with an odd look on her face.

"Mom, are you cooking something?" she asked.

"No, why?" I asked.

"It smells upstairs," she said. "Like the mix Papa used to make."

I went up to see. It hit me halfway up the staircase. That aroma. Sweet and smoky, filling the air the way it always did just before the oven timer went off. Chex mix. There was nothing in the cupboards or the oven, but now that he was reunited with Mom, Dad was mixin' again.

Taken from The Guideposts, and written by Barbara ... (show quote)

I'm thankin you BF
whils't I wipe tears from my cheeks
guess I'm gettin sentimental
didn't use to cry about sad things

E.pa.al Loc: Martin's Creek

good one BF

Fredfish Loc: Prospect CT.

BadFisherman wrote:

Taken from The Guideposts, and written by Barbara Altamirano

The cupboards were empty. So were my parent's bookshelves, their closets, their dressers. The garage was crammed with musty boxes of books and dusty CDs, racks of clothes and stacks of dishes. Everything was ready for tomorrow's tag sale. The accumulation of a lifetime. My parent's house would stay in the family...my brother-in-law had bought it...but it wouldn't be the same without them there. I couldn't help feeling sad. There's be no more big-band music playing on the stereo and no more Chex mix baking in the oven.

Chex mix. The one and only recipe Dad knew. I had nearly broken down the last time I was here, not long after his funeral, when I pulled a stale box of cereal from the cabinet to throw away.

My Dad was from the generation that believed women did the cooking and men fixed things. But he loved that snack of cereal, nuts and pretzels, and Mom would only make it when company was coming. So he boldly tied on an apron and learned to make it himself. He dropped Chex from the name and just called it mix. You always knew what he was up to when that sweet and smoky aroma wafted from the kitchen.

"Dad's mixin' again," we'd say.

After Mom passed away, three years ago, Dad stopped mixin'. I wasn't sure why. I knew he was lonely living on his own. He ate with my family and enjoyed spending time with his grandkids. But I sensed a change in him. I suppose he'd felt the way I did now...as though nothing could be the way it was before.

My 11-yr. old daughter had come with me to help organize the last of my parent's things. I asked her to put a pair of shoes in the bedroom upstairs that was going to be my niece's.

She came back down with an odd look on her face.

"Mom, are you cooking something?" she asked.

"No, why?" I asked.

"It smells upstairs," she said. "Like the mix Papa used to make."

I went up to see. It hit me halfway up the staircase. That aroma. Sweet and smoky, filling the air the way it always did just before the oven timer went off. Chex mix. There was nothing in the cupboards or the oven, but now that he was reunited with Mom, Dad was mixin' again.

Taken from The Guideposts, and written by Barbara ... (show quote)

Thanks BF,very touching story.

bknecht Loc: Northeast pa

Very touching story BF, gives us all a sense of our mortality and what we’ll leave behind, both in material possessions but much more importantly in the mind.

plumbob Loc: New Windsor Maryland

BadFisherman wrote:

Taken from The Guideposts, and written by Barbara Altamirano

The cupboards were empty. So were my parent's bookshelves, their closets, their dressers. The garage was crammed with musty boxes of books and dusty CDs, racks of clothes and stacks of dishes. Everything was ready for tomorrow's tag sale. The accumulation of a lifetime. My parent's house would stay in the family...my brother-in-law had bought it...but it wouldn't be the same without them there. I couldn't help feeling sad. There's be no more big-band music playing on the stereo and no more Chex mix baking in the oven.

Chex mix. The one and only recipe Dad knew. I had nearly broken down the last time I was here, not long after his funeral, when I pulled a stale box of cereal from the cabinet to throw away.

My Dad was from the generation that believed women did the cooking and men fixed things. But he loved that snack of cereal, nuts and pretzels, and Mom would only make it when company was coming. So he boldly tied on an apron and learned to make it himself. He dropped Chex from the name and just called it mix. You always knew what he was up to when that sweet and smoky aroma wafted from the kitchen.

"Dad's mixin' again," we'd say.

After Mom passed away, three years ago, Dad stopped mixin'. I wasn't sure why. I knew he was lonely living on his own. He ate with my family and enjoyed spending time with his grandkids. But I sensed a change in him. I suppose he'd felt the way I did now...as though nothing could be the way it was before.

My 11-yr. old daughter had come with me to help organize the last of my parent's things. I asked her to put a pair of shoes in the bedroom upstairs that was going to be my niece's.

She came back down with an odd look on her face.

"Mom, are you cooking something?" she asked.

"No, why?" I asked.

"It smells upstairs," she said. "Like the mix Papa used to make."

I went up to see. It hit me halfway up the staircase. That aroma. Sweet and smoky, filling the air the way it always did just before the oven timer went off. Chex mix. There was nothing in the cupboards or the oven, but now that he was reunited with Mom, Dad was mixin' again.

Taken from The Guideposts, and written by Barbara ... (show quote)

Wonderful story BF, and my bride can relate. Her mom passed 18 years sooner then her dad and when cleaning out the house her moms perfume was quite present in every room.

Yes her parents were there going through the memories of years gone by with her.

bahmer Loc: Northern Illinois Rockford

BadFisherman wrote:

Taken from The Guideposts, and written by Barbara Altamirano

The cupboards were empty. So were my parent's bookshelves, their closets, their dressers. The garage was crammed with musty boxes of books and dusty CDs, racks of clothes and stacks of dishes. Everything was ready for tomorrow's tag sale. The accumulation of a lifetime. My parent's house would stay in the family...my brother-in-law had bought it...but it wouldn't be the same without them there. I couldn't help feeling sad. There's be no more big-band music playing on the stereo and no more Chex mix baking in the oven.

Chex mix. The one and only recipe Dad knew. I had nearly broken down the last time I was here, not long after his funeral, when I pulled a stale box of cereal from the cabinet to throw away.

My Dad was from the generation that believed women did the cooking and men fixed things. But he loved that snack of cereal, nuts and pretzels, and Mom would only make it when company was coming. So he boldly tied on an apron and learned to make it himself. He dropped Chex from the name and just called it mix. You always knew what he was up to when that sweet and smoky aroma wafted from the kitchen.

"Dad's mixin' again," we'd say.

After Mom passed away, three years ago, Dad stopped mixin'. I wasn't sure why. I knew he was lonely living on his own. He ate with my family and enjoyed spending time with his grandkids. But I sensed a change in him. I suppose he'd felt the way I did now...as though nothing could be the way it was before.

My 11-yr. old daughter had come with me to help organize the last of my parent's things. I asked her to put a pair of shoes in the bedroom upstairs that was going to be my niece's.

She came back down with an odd look on her face.

"Mom, are you cooking something?" she asked.

"No, why?" I asked.

"It smells upstairs," she said. "Like the mix Papa used to make."

I went up to see. It hit me halfway up the staircase. That aroma. Sweet and smoky, filling the air the way it always did just before the oven timer went off. Chex mix. There was nothing in the cupboards or the oven, but now that he was reunited with Mom, Dad was mixin' again.

Taken from The Guideposts, and written by Barbara ... (show quote)

Good one BF kind of brings a tear to my eyes its been going on 12 years since my wife passed away.

Fish Dancer Loc: Guntersville, Alabama

BadFisherman wrote:

Taken from The Guideposts, and written by Barbara Altamirano

The cupboards were empty. So were my parent's bookshelves, their closets, their dressers. The garage was crammed with musty boxes of books and dusty CDs, racks of clothes and stacks of dishes. Everything was ready for tomorrow's tag sale. The accumulation of a lifetime. My parent's house would stay in the family...my brother-in-law had bought it...but it wouldn't be the same without them there. I couldn't help feeling sad. There's be no more big-band music playing on the stereo and no more Chex mix baking in the oven.

Chex mix. The one and only recipe Dad knew. I had nearly broken down the last time I was here, not long after his funeral, when I pulled a stale box of cereal from the cabinet to throw away.

My Dad was from the generation that believed women did the cooking and men fixed things. But he loved that snack of cereal, nuts and pretzels, and Mom would only make it when company was coming. So he boldly tied on an apron and learned to make it himself. He dropped Chex from the name and just called it mix. You always knew what he was up to when that sweet and smoky aroma wafted from the kitchen.

"Dad's mixin' again," we'd say.

After Mom passed away, three years ago, Dad stopped mixin'. I wasn't sure why. I knew he was lonely living on his own. He ate with my family and enjoyed spending time with his grandkids. But I sensed a change in him. I suppose he'd felt the way I did now...as though nothing could be the way it was before.

My 11-yr. old daughter had come with me to help organize the last of my parent's things. I asked her to put a pair of shoes in the bedroom upstairs that was going to be my niece's.

She came back down with an odd look on her face.

"Mom, are you cooking something?" she asked.

"No, why?" I asked.

"It smells upstairs," she said. "Like the mix Papa used to make."

I went up to see. It hit me halfway up the staircase. That aroma. Sweet and smoky, filling the air the way it always did just before the oven timer went off. Chex mix. There was nothing in the cupboards or the oven, but now that he was reunited with Mom, Dad was mixin' again.

Taken from The Guideposts, and written by Barbara ... (show quote)

Wow. That was a tearjerker. Thanks BF.

Whitey Loc: Southeast ohio

Thanks BF very touching. Kind of like driving down the road and a song comes over the radio the next thing you know you're crying like an 8 year old boy. My uncle Charlie told me that about 25 years ago not long after my grandfather passed away he was 93.

BadFisherman Loc: Lake Whitney, Texas

To all who appreciated this, thanks. I posted it because it moved me, but wasn't sure if it would others.

Jim Sargent Loc: Payson, AZ

This is so very true BF. Thank you.

Jim Sargent Loc: Payson, AZ

This is so very true BF. Thank you.