This was taken during the summer of 1980, when Dad found solace from Mother's cancer diagnosis and surgery by making two big marquetry pictures that summer.
Russell Marion Blood, photo taken when he was one year old. The other picture is the classic on his mother's lap.
If I had Dwight's eloquence, I would write a wonderful essay on our father, but I will try to express a few thoughts. Dad was a complex man. He was talented in many ways, and didn't think so. Mother worked all their lives together to buoy him up to be confident of his ability to do so many things. Even though times were often tough, I remember laughter around the supper table. Memories include: waiting on the top of the cellar for a sight of the little Ford that would bring Daddy home from wherever he had found work during the depression; him and Mother taking me to the hospital in Lovell when I was 4, and his encouraging me to be "good"; on a summer morning, waking up to his coming into the house very early after he had been out irrigating, and wanting breakfast; chasing the cows on Mother's Day when they got into the strawberries; having first dibs on "The Saturday Evening Post" and the serial Westerns; sitting on the couch, reading, and swinging his foot like a metronome, keeping me on time at the piano; whistling and sniffing on the way home from movies; his love of Western movies; his love for all of his children, and his frustrations when we didn't do as he hoped for; his skill with wood, and the time we spent together in Washington making marquetry pictures;
his hopes, dreams, and love for his children and Mother. Memories go on and on. We were fortunate to have a father who loved us very much. I still want to call him to tell him something funny or interesting. Maybe some day?