talking of houses...

I just uploaded some pictures of dad's funeral onto Flickr, and of him building our house in the 1950's. You can see them here. I'd like to build a house, maybe, but maybe not right now.

I haven't really been thinking about it at all, but it obviously shook me up emotionally, and sometimes I get a twinge when I miss our phone conversations about life, home education, and all sorts of interseting stuff. He sometimes sent me emails, too. He was very supportive.

At the funeral ceremony, the woman said he was a "man with a dogged tenacity of purpose." I know where I get that from, then. There were so many great things to say about him; he really was an amazing guy. He never had a bad word to say about anyone, never got into arguments, never got into debt of any kind. He was highly principled. When he first applied for teacher training in the late 50's he was refused because he wrote "athiest" on the form, when asked for his religion. She didn't mention that, apart from building our house, he also made all the furniture, and grew our food in the garden. He looked after us and cooked all our meals, as well as working full time: he finished at 3.30 on the dot so he could be home. No wonder I have high expectations of men. She said the best way to remember him was not to be sad but to live our lives the best we could. I shall try.