What My Dad Does

Sometimes, I think of my dad when I pay for things.

When I'm signing my name on the credit card slip, someone usually comments on my rings.

My dad made them.

If I tell people that my dad made the rings they are either really confused (He made them!?) or think it is a cute hobby of his.  Neither seems to do justice to what my dad does.

He's an artist. This is what my dad does.

Here's something he made lately.

I think I could stare at it all day. 

This week my parents are in Oklahoma City for the Traditional Cowboy Arts Association Exhibition and Sale.  Adam and I went a few years ago and I loved it.  Silent auctions can be electric.  My dad was nervous which may be the first time I ever remember seeing him nervous.  During the sale, I watched him chat with people, all the while glancing over their heads periodically to see if anyone was putting bids in the box near his work.  (My six-and-a-half-foot tall dad + his high heeled cowboy boots could steal glances very covertly.)

I wish I was there this week.

I love to see my dad (and the silver pieces he makes) shine.