Father's Day thoughts

 

  This is an old shot from someone's birthday - maybe my dad's.  In the photo - Bonny, Phoebe, Randy, and Harry.  I'm thinking it was 1979 - the year we moved to Monrovia.

This is how I remember my dad best.  He was still well and healthy.  Most of the photos of my dad in his waning years show the deterioration, but I really can't remember him that way.  Maybe I just don't want to remember him that way.

When we moved back to California, Harry had to go back for a month to wrap things up.  It was hard to be in a new house, new neighborhood, new ward, new state - and to be alone with the kids.  Harry and Phoebe were fine - Harry had made a new friend on the street and spent lots of time playing and having fun.  We walked down the alley and went swimming at the now defunct Monrovia Plunge.  (The location is now the Monrovia Historical Museum.)

Bonny found a friend, but she was old enough to miss her former home.  When things were not going well, she would blame it on where we were now.  I suspect she got her attitude from me - because I did the same thing! I missed being close to my sister and my friends in Utah.  I was not often a happy camper.

I took on several projects - the major one being refinishing a table and chairs for our kitchen.  I went out to GH to work on it.  My dad worked with me - showed me how to do it - critiqued my efforts and made suggestions.  He was patient with me - just like he was when I did school projects with him.  The new table and chairs - with the addition of curtains - made the kitchen quite charming.  The house felt homier.

Later on, after we'd pretty well adapted to being in California and were no longer longing to be back in Utah, my mom and I started making dolls, blankets, and other crafty items for boutiques.  My dad, now retired from the "shop," sat in our crafting sessions and offered suggestions and ideas.  And he made cradles and doll beds to sell too.   I wish I had a photo of us sitting around the table, making plans and patting ourselves on the back for our cleverness!

He and my mom came out often to visit and help out.  By then Eliza had been born, and we soon moved to Primrose.  We took in Bernie.  They were always helpful and supportive.  One time they came and Eliza had burned her hand by grabbing a still-hot curling iron.  She was inconsolable.  My folks walked in on this chaos.  My dad picked Eliza up and took her for a walk - she was about 15 months old.  When they came back she was fine.

Hey Dad, thanks for the memories!!