[Catherine Blair]

Dad was born in Saint John, NB, in 1944. His father was a bank manager for Bank of Nova Scotia and for most of his childhood they moved around the Canadian Maritimes (Newfoundland once it joined Canada, New Brunswick and finally Nova Scotia). His favourite spot was Burin, Newfoundland - an outport. He continually reminisced about growing up there because of the extreme freedom he and his brother experienced. He joined the air force the year Kennedy was assassinated and trained as a radar tech but there were too many of them so the military was going to release him along with others. He talked his way into being trained as an HVAC mechanic and was posted to radar sites across Canada. He eventually was posted to a base in Sardinia (he was single so could pick up and go much easier than someone with a family).

Dad, being an extremely social person (as some of you know first hand!) was drafted to help organize events and parties while posted in Sardinia, and one evening walked around the base to invite people to a "come as you are" party.

He knocked on one door, and a pretty girl with short dark hair, face cream and curlers, wearing a caftan answered. He invited her to the party, and was VERY impressed when she showed up - in face cream, curlers and a caftan. (Some of the officers wives showed up to the party in cocktail dresses and heels - not normal attire for most mid week homes.) They started dating and he eventually married Dorothy - my mom, in Lahr Germany.

They moved home to Canada. Their first posting together was Penhold Alberta. My sister and I were born in Alberta, and when I turned 4, dad felt that he didn't want the itinerant life. Because of the radar base turnover, he was posted every two years, so decided to leave the military after 14 years and bought into an HVAC business with his friend in Saskatchewan. We lived there for the next 11 years.

Dad lived pretty vividly. He drove motorbikes (and crashed a few, causing a couple of injuries and broken bones) from before he was married until I was in university, restored old cars, smoked and drank pretty hard. Eventually, my mom gave him a choice - alcohol or his family. He (as always) chose his family. He didn't touch a drop of alcohol from that day forward for 28 years.

He loved to hunt (really he loved to plan out the trip, and he and his best friend would start almost from the day they got back from a trip to plan out next years.) He loved the prairies and the wide open spaces.