Dad loved to play the fiddle. He played in an old-time dance band before he was married. My sister Earla chorded on the piano to his music and he kept time with his foot. Similarly, he kept strict time as he added whole columns of numbers aloud when he did his own bookkeeping, years before we had hand calculators.
From his studies in Business College, before he was married, Dad learned penmanship. His handwriting was beautiful, done with a flourish. With his pen he was an artist. His specialty was to draw a bird in a nest. Through the picture, would run a quill, which was a feathered straight pen, the trademark of a penman. Each of my sisters, Earla, Euna and Margaret, requested an original, which they received years before he went to be with God.
Relatives shipped him an old bellows-operated pedal organ that once played in a country church. Considerable work was required to restore it, but he accepted the challenge. Eventually, he had it working perfectly and we kids took turns pumping with our feet and playing. Earla and her husband Dave, in Iowa, wanted the organ and Dad sent it to them in the States where it will now be in possession of Earla's daughter.
He once acquired an oak dining room set and spent many hours restoring all the chairs, table and buffet. He made the top as smooth and polished as the day it was made. My sister, Margaret’s daughter Donna, has the set in her home in Calgary. This was Dad’s way of expressing his love. Likewise, he made cedar chests for my three sisters.
Dad was ambitious, and more so than any of us. Once he decided upon a project, he undertook it with a passion. He didn’t ponder over it, but would undertake it until the job was complete. Sometimes, I thought he would complete all his “jobs” and have nothing left to do. That never happened, because one hot day in the summer, he undertook to paint white walls on the tires of his Studebaker. The paintbrush fell out of his hand and he was unable to retrieve it. The stroke took him home 42 days later. He accomplished much during his lifetime and completed any task to perfection except the last one.
When Ken and I were boys about six and seven years old, Dad had to drive over to Hanover from Kinloss Ontario, with a friend. Mom thought the trip would be good for the two of us, so she encouraged us to hide between the front and back seats of the car. Dad and his friend didn’t know we were there until we were quite far along our way, so Dad accepted that we might as well enjoy the rest of the ride. I’m not sure to this day if Mom and Dad planned the trip. I can’t ask them because they are no longer here, but I think they did.
When Ken and I set up our practices, Dad helped in building the partitions. When we left home and shared a house together, he helped us finish the basement. In my own first house, the basement washroom vanity needed to be retrofitted to the sink. Before long, Dad added the cabinet like it had always been there. Together, he and I worked to install ceiling tiles until Dad got tired and went home for a rest. I continued alone, concentrating on how to cut the edge tiles. I had to turn them upside down and mark them, which was a trick he had shown me. Then, as I was getting quite tired, I made a mistake and in my exasperation, I threw the wrongly sawed tile across the room. Just then, I heard Dad say as he returned, “I saw that.”
I admitted that I had made a mistake and cut the wrong edge of the tile and realized it wouldn’t fit. Then, he said, do you have anything to drink? I said, “Sure, I have Ginger Ale and a bit of rye whiskey.” He said, “Could you just make it straight?” So, I poured a “neat” one for each of us and we stood back and let it go down. It burned all the way and I could feel it hit the bottom. He said, “I think you have had a pretty full day, and I think you should take a rest and finish your job tomorrow.” That was excellent advice, and we sat down in the living room and talked for a while before suppertime. Neither of us took to drinking. We both prized the time we had to do things, but once in a while, there has to come a time to relax and Dad taught me it was a good thing to do.
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