We made a neat connection with
Phil and Helen Jenion after we moved into Vancouver proper. Phil had found a
storefront on Kingsway. I drove by his place everyday on my way to work and
loved watching it come together. It was a cute little storefront where he
opened his record store. I enjoyed helping him with some of the design ideas
and graphics. He is a gifted musician. He also became uncle Phil to Rodney.
Dale and Joan Lundstrom had two
adopted boys and since we also had two adopted children we became good friends.
Rod eventually got over Reed having bit him in Sunday school and they became
friends, at least as much as three year olds are friends.
My friendship with Al McVety
continued to grow and we became regulars at Captain Cooks Restaurant. That was
good for us, but not so good for our boss. There were many times I wished I had
known and worked with W. H. Books in his heyday, But I had come near the end of
his ministry and he was not the man he had once been. It seemed like his wife
was working hard to help him remember and hold things together. That may have
even been part of the problem when he hired me to come to Vancouver. Now that I
am near that age myself, I understand better the stresses that age can bring. I
did not know his concerns specifically, but he struggled with having chosen Al
as his heir apparent. The people really liked Al and that bothered our boss.
When it came to friends, there was
no one like the youth of the church. I hung out with several of them nearly
every Saturday morning. I drove along the road beside them while they went door
to door begging for newspapers and bottles. I always laughed when we took
bottles to be recycled. We brought them in whole and as they were counted, the
bottles were smashed. I have no idea how many bottles we collected. It would
have been fun to keep a count. Beer and liquor bottles definitely out numbered
pop bottles and they smelled.
On April twenty-third, there was a
knock at our door and twenty or more of the youth gang came in singing happy
birthday to me. I was surprised. Della being who she was began to worry
immediately about whether or not we had any anything to serve them. No problem,
they brought a cake with them. Not an ordinary cake, but a very special one
with a contribution from each one. The cake was either an angel food or bunt
cake. Each one was told to bring a topping of their choice and pour it over the
cake. The center was overflowing and looked somewhat like a volcano about to
explode. The stuff was running down the sides and filled the center and edge of
the plate.
They were acting rather strange
and wanted to drop the cake off and take off immediately. That made us
suspicious. Taking a better look at the cake it was a collection of the strangest
“cake toppings.” I had ever seen.
There were ones you might expect:
chocolate, white and some other colors of frosting. There were some berries and
from there — unbelievable was all I can say. I never took inventory of all that
was on that cake but they were like: pickles, olives, sauerkraut, peas, corn,
syrup, spaghetti and many more indescribable items. It looked disgusting.
 |
| Not the actual cake. This one looks way to nice. |
There was no way I was letting
them out without sharing the joy of my birthday cake. We dug out some plates
and forks, cut up the cake and served it to all. They turned up their noses and
acted all grossed out. So I said, “You thought it was good enough for me, but
not for you. You cannot leave until you have least one bite.” You should have
seen them trying to fine something editable in the slop on their plate. Some
held their noses, other screwed up their face and a few, very few, decided to
act like it was the best cake they ever had.
I loved it. I love them for bring
it. I loved them even more for eating it. When they left we had a garbage can
full of the ickiest cake you had ever seen. Della and I both laughed so hard we
could hardly get to sleep that night.
I didn’t know it yet, but I was
going to miss this group.
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