The first two or three years seemed to pass slowly, perhaps because I was concentrating so much on Mum's health and wellbeing back then, but suddenly it's 15 years ago today that Dad died. Who knows where the time goes. He'd not been in great health for a number of years, though the end came very quickly and unexpectedly. I won't go into it all again now, but I wrote about that day in some detail here.
The family archive contains many photos of me as a youngster as well as plenty of me with Mum and other relatives. Photos of me with Dad are less plentiful for the simple reason that he was the family photographer. Here's a fun one though, of us in 1964 on a seaside miniature railway, no doubt taken by Mum as she shouted at Dad to make sure I held on! That's us two thirds of the way back, with Dad obeying Mum's instructions to the letter and me smiling at the camera like butter wouldn't melt.
Spencer Krug is a prolific Canadian musician, one of those artists whose output, across several simultaneous bands, is a devilishly tricky business to keep up with. I have nothing in the collection by Fifths of Seven or Moonface for instance, but I do own fine albums by Frog Eyes, Sunset Rubdown, Swan Lake and these guys. If you know only one song by Wolf Parade, it's probably this corker.
A lovely photo, and yes that's definitely a 'butter wouldn't melt' smile!
Sorry to know it's the anniversary of something so sad, and I just went back and reminded myself of your earlier post and the horrible circumstances. Difficult stuff and it's incredible how fast the years go by, but it's really lovely that the references to your Dad that we sometimes read about here are always so very warm and vivid.
PS Just noticed the little girl behind you - she doesn't look so happy!
My big take away from this photo is the glorious reassurance that some things don't change. I have photos of myself and Sam on miniature railway rides just like this one, taken just a couple of years back.
I like the Wolf Parade tune too.
Lovely picture as so many of them from your childhood are - always a smile on your face.
Just read the earlier post (as from before my time as a blogger) and scarily similar to the day I lost my dad too. As C said, anniversaries of something sad are difficult, but you write so beautifully about your dad around here that we feel as if we know him well - he lives on within these pages.
It's funny how through the years of this blog you seem so recognizable to us now as a youngster... like an old friend we used to play with.
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