My happy place.

A few months before my father died he decided to give me some money. He did the same for my sister. And several others! 
At the time he was in relatively good health although having had to go into residential care as his sight was failing. 
He was as sharp as a button and had celebrated his 90th birthday in style 8 months before he had to go into the home.
    He had 50 people, made up of family, friends and neighbours to a three course dinner. He stood at the end and made a speech reciting, word perfect, two Lancashire dialect poems. He was a member of the Lancashire Authors' Association, with a lifelong interest in dialect and literature in general. He instilled in me a love of reading, and we went to several productions at the Shakespeare Memorial Theatre, Stratford-on-Avon. 
      After the gift of the money we bought a summer house for the end of the garden. It has been such a blessing. 
    The only sadness being he never lived to know what we had decided to buy, as we took our time to think of something special. 
It is now part of my lovely memories of my dad.