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.
