My Dad never wanted to climb mountains or hop on an airplane and travel far from home. He never needed a lot of people around him or to do something risky just for the hell of it. While he enjoyed a glass of wine or a gin and tonic, he didn’t need to go out with his mates to drink.
For Dad, home truly was the place of his heart. He was happiest in his own chair with a pile of newspapers and periodicals, the container he’d made to hold his remotes on the coffee table beside him, the TV tuned into a news or documentary channel. He loved watching anything to do with world history, evolution and new developments in the fields of science, technology and medicine.
Dad could fix anything. We rarely needed to buy new because we could always call on him to fix our vehicles, our washing machines and stoves and you could rely on him to have a spare toaster or jug on standby. He came when we called. He was there when we needed him.
I think my mother would have loved to have climbed a mountain or two! She would like to have galloped a white horse bareback along a windy beach or through a dappled forest. I think she would have been in her element riding with a convoy of travelers or a troupe of circus performers.
But she slotted herself into a different kind of life, a conventional life where she cooked and cleaned and gardened and worked at various jobs that didn’t take her attention too much away from her home and family. But how she cooked! How she cleaned! How she gardened! And whatever work she undertook she did it to perfection.
If you were ill there was nowhere more comforting to be than around Mum. There’d be a breakfast tray with matching china. A perfectly cooked boiled egg, toast cut into fingers, pats of butter and marmalade in a crystal dish.
My Mum and Dad were never awarded any honors, they didn’t win notoriety for adventures good or bad. Sure I’m biased, but I view their lives as exceptionally worthwhile. What do you think?