Happiness of domesticity

Barry is 3 months old, its late August 1986, looking at this photo I sent Mom I am overwhelmed by what Fred and I did in moving across the world into a foreign language country with such little people.

I write that Barry is full of smiles, has been so good and that he 'must be more of a Wedderburn than everyone thinks. Fred says he is looking more and more like me.'

Our little family has eventually moved into our home in Marly le Roi and it's a flurry of domesticity as we settle in.

Shopping at IKEA north of Paris was a treat and my letter to Mom on the 30 August is how we spent our first weekend in the house, Fred assembling kitchen cupboards, the kitchen table, cutting the wood for our walk-in bedroom cupboard and making shelves for the pantry in the basement.

Me, seems I harvested the mirabelle plums and made 7 litres of plum jam and in the world pre the internet, I am asking Mom for plum recipes. This batch of jam, fizzed and bubbled and was sickly sweet, I am sure the neighbours said thanks and dumped the jam.

Our TV keeps us company, I mention seeing Zola Budd run and all the wonderful summer sport we are watching; 'Dad would love all the sport on French TV. This last week we have had the European Athletics Championships and the US Open. I have just seen Connors knocked out of the Open by Wiksen.'

And my father, who is now 85, immobile and in frail care, loves his sport and it keeps him company each day! He and Fred still natter and complain about cricket commentators, especially the Australian commentators, and they both could manage team selection a lot better than the professionals.

And I am happily cleaning. Doors and frames got done. 'Just a few chores a day. Fred helps out quite often with his ironing which is a pleasure.'  As I recall he did more than a bit, I remember him mopping floors, ironing, gardening, in fact he worked non-stop.

Little Shawni is still adjusting, teething but I mention she seems happier and I get her to draw a message for Nan.