Wednesday, March 13, 2013

Horn of Plenty


Thirty plus years of working, acquiring, finding his place produced a lot of comfort and some wonderful relationships with co-workers and neighbors.  I remember refugees and violinists, airline attendants and real estate brokers, jewelers and carpenters, and lots and lots of housewives.   I don’t know if all the neighbors’ moms’ were into politics, fashion, music, poker, German lessons and giant dahlias the size of your head.  I do know that my Dad invented, innovated, created, crafted and ‘gerry rigged’ anything necessary for Mom to have her home and her grand hospitality look and operate the best way.   He was a trial and error, self-taught kind of fix it person.   Sometimes that wasn’t very efficient but he was determined and full of confidence all the time.   Actually he shared with me recently that he wasn’t always full of confidence but he knew how to put on his game face.

He told a story about trying to make a special table for one of mother’s big plants (she had an enormous green thumb).  He went to the senior’s centre to use the tools there, but didn’t like the attitude of the manager (“The guy must have been 90!” he said.) so he went to Carson Graham high school, found the shop teacher who showed him how to do what he wanted.  A rare occasion of Peter Neufeld seeking help and advice.

One of the outward manifestations of their success was the purchase of recreational property at Green Lake in the Caribou.  Mom and I watched from the cold-beer-sunset- deck position as Dad fixed things.  We often pondered from our sewing, measuring and measuring again experience that geometry was pretty much the same for fabric and wood.   As you can imagine though, he was having none of our well-meaning advice about carpentry. That place was the scene of many interesting adventures, including the launching of my Uncle Boulter’s rowboat.  He built it in his basement and had no idea how to get it to water.  So Dad hauled it to the Caribou, along with a couple of brothers.  They fished and told stories and shared in the fruits of Dad’s success.   He was proud and happy about that.  Told that story several times in the last few years.

Going to Hawaii, Phoenix, Birch Bay and one African camera safari were the extent of his travels.  He said that after you spend a few years in North Africa trying to stay out of the way (of the bullets), one didn’t really need to explore much.  Home seemed like the best place.

I once unwittingly insulted him by writing an essay for a Sociology class at UBC.  His career journey fit some kind of theory or formula.  I failed to see how unique he felt.

He always had a great car, and so did Clare.  I always had something I could afford and didn’t think much about it.   Cars were everywhere in our lives and dinner conversations were all about the deals made that day.  It wasn’t till later that I realized it wasn’t like this for everybody.  Because he could, he did.  Get people cars in a pinch, give their children jobs, bail them out of jail, give them refuge, and manage their wills.  He was willing to help, shy to ask for it in later life, very grateful for it when it came unbidden and generously.  I think his wonderful neighbors on Palisade Drive including Linda, Bob, Dana, Bruce, Jeff, Sandy, Monica, John, Kathy and all the others who came before them made him feel cared for.  He was wealthy then, right to the end.