Angel Wheeler

my dad

  • The Reason I Cried on Christmas

    We left Christmas day, loaded up the family and the dogs and drove to my mom’s house, 6 hours away. I wanted to have Christmas morning at home, open the presents with just the few of us, then leave.  But after opening presents, we had to take down the tree, because I didn’t want to… Read more

  • Birthday Letters

    On January 16, 1943 my dad was born.  I don’t know anything about his birth.  Whether he was born in a hospital or at home.  Whether he was a good baby or a tyrant.  How much he weighed or if he sucked his thumb. Today if he were still living, he would have turned 70… Read more

  • In Memory of my dad—number forty something

    The green spiraled journal draws me in. It belonged to my dad. The very first thing I bought when I became an adult was a storage building.  It sits on my mom’s property (once upon a time it was my grandmother’s property) and my dad put a few boxes of belongings in there nearly twenty… Read more

  • In Memory of My Dad #41

      I haven’t shared a story from my dad in several weeks.  There’s a good reason for this.  I’m out of stories by my dad; that I know of.   I haven’t gone through all the old newspapers, but it appears all that is left are sports news.   I’m confident no one cares to… Read more

  • A New Body

    It made many trips down I-40 from Tahlequah to Pampa.  It rode in the passenger seat of a red dodge pickup and when that vehicle wore out, a yellow Chevy pickup.  When he died, it rode in the back of my vehicle one last time along with the potted plants sent with condolences and a… Read more

  • In Memory of My Dad #40—A Lizard Story with no Ending

    I first saw him as I was putting my portable air tankup up for the summer.  At first I thought he was a snake, “Omigosh!  Mister no shoulders,” I thought.  Then I saw it was a harmless brown lizard. Since that time, we have become friends of a sort.  Well, good enough friends that we… Read more

  • In Memory of My Dad #39

    “What’s old Duane doing now?” I asked. “Seventy-five years.” “Say what?” “Yep, 75 years in the Huntsville pen.” “He must have done something heavy.” “Yeah, it seems Duane got mixed up with some dope dealers down around Houston and they leaned on him a little, and you know ol’ Duane, he started to shove back… Read more

  • In Memory of My Dad #38—-Random Thoughts of Bob

    It is 3:00 a.m. here in Stonebroke Acres.  I sit at a small table, my trusty Smith-Corona paused on ready, a steaming cup of java waits for my first sip as my weekly stint at observing the world around me takes shape once more. It is a good time, for quiet has descended.  The night… Read more

  • In Memory of My Dad #37—the bear and the bob

    Merry Christmas Eve, friends.  I hope this evening finds you all blessed with love and family.  It’s been a while since I’ve blogged, due to several reasons that I won’t bore you with, but hopefully you aren’t holding it against me.  I’ve had my supper consisting of grilled cheese, sweet pickles, and Classic Lays potato chips, which… Read more

  • In Memory of My Dad #36–relatives

    I’m so glad to have discovered a story from my dad to share with you today.  Months ago, my sister sent via her husband, a large canvas box filled with Tahlequah Times Journal newspapers from the years my dad worked there.  I thought I had shared all the “stories” and was left with sports articles of… Read more