Day 445: PCP (March 21, 2014)

Yesterday, I wrote about a very positive, encouraging visit to my Primary Care Physician/ Practitioner/ Professional.

Today, I would like to write about a few more PCP’s.

The first is yesterday’s lunch, at the hospital cafeteria:


I might call that a Perfectly Composed Plate, or a Perfectly Composed Picture; however, some might disagree. I know I can label that picture, above, “Pancakes Created from Potatoes,” with no fear of undue discussion.

The second PCP I wanted to mention, in this post, is a Professional Compliment Paid to me, recently.  That is, I have been invited to be on the board of a group psychotherapy organization I respect highly.  This was a surprise, and it means a lot.

The last PCP I wanted to write about today is a personal, cherished parent —  my father — who passed away, on this date, 17 years ago.  Other words that describe him:

  • Private (First Class, in the U.S. Army)
  • Compassionate
  • Phunny.

Look,  I know that last “P” was forced, but funny just HAS to be in any list of adjectives used about my father,  whom I’ve written about several times before (including here, here, and here).

When people say I am like him (and they have), it’s another amazing compliment.


What do you think?

Here’s a quote, from A. Koplow:

The pain of a loss reflects the importance of the connection.

So there’s a lot of gratitude, mixed with pain, today.

I’ll end this post with another acronym. RIP.  Rest In Peace, Dad. I miss you.

Wait! One more thing.

My father loved potato pancakes, too (although we never ate them in March).

Thanks to all my dear readers — past, present, and future — for witnessing me here, every day.

Categories: inspiration, Nostalgia, personal growth | Tags: , , , | 23 Comments

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23 thoughts on “Day 445: PCP (March 21, 2014)

  1. You always make my heart feel light — and my feet feel like dancing! Dancing into the kitchen now to make my latte!

  2. Potato pancakes…I am curious!

    Also, you resemble your dad!

    And I nominated you for a Liebster Award!

    • Hey, Jess! Thank you for your curiosity and this great comment. And I am very honored and pleased by the nomination for the award.

  3. The matching smiles on you and your dad are priceless, Ann. You made a beautiful graduate. And you already know how I feel about potato pancakes. Applesauce and sour cream, just like you. Hey, WordPress circa Ann Koplow: Potato pancakes rock!

  4. Your dad sounds like he was an amazing man! Congratulations on being invited to join the board of an organization that you admire and respect!
    Diana xo

  5. Moving post. Your father sounds like he was quite something.

  6. dammit! That quote of yours is too cool and very powerful, I’m so jealous that I can’t think up sayings like that……

  7. Wonderful. I think those that are no longer with us do leave a hole in our hearts that doesn’t ever really heal. I love the smiles!

  8. Such great smiles – it must be nice to be able to share that smile with your Dad.

    Congrats on the invitation to join the psychotherapy organization. Potato pancakes? Never have tried them, but certainly sound delicious, although I’m not too sure about the sour cream and applesauce.

    Thanks for visiting my blog recently. I look forward to exploring yours a bit more, as time permits. Even in the brief few minutes I’ve poked around, it’s been quite interesting.

  9. Having lost my dad less than a year ago, this post moved me to tears. I think that eating latkes on your dad’s yahrzeit in March is such a serendipitously beautiful thing to do. A lot of different holiday, dad-and-daughter images came to me with that plate of latkes and applesauce.

    He was a lucky man, to be your dad. And so aware of that and proud, I can see. He left the world a great gift, in you.

  10. Reblogged this on harrygrotman and commented:
    Very Good

  11. Congratulations on invite to the organization. Your words and actions are tribute to your father and the relationship you shared.

  12. Pingback: Day 446: Criticism is easy. Good is hard. | The Year(s) of Living Non-Judgmentally

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