Every Sunday, at least every Sunday that my father was home, he woke us up by playing Mussorgsky’s “Pictures at an Exhibition” full force on his hi-fi stereo system. An Air Force pilot, he was often on assignment; but when he was home, “Pictures at an Exhibition” was the way to blast us out of bed and get us going! Probably, originally, as young children, we would be annoyed by his antics, but over time, we all grew to love this tradition. If he didn’t play it for us, we would request it. I think, in a way, it’s our family’s anthem.
My father passed away on January 19, 2013 and we are scattering his ashes at sea today. When you read this, we will be on our way to Cabrillo National Monument in San Diego, California for a memorial service on a rocky bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. At the conclusion of this memorial service, my mother and the four of us, his children, will drive to a nearby harbor, board a small boat, motor through the harbor and then out to sea. In our mind and hearts, we will be playing “Pictures at an Exhibition” – a requiem for my father – and mentally running through all the wonderful times and loving memories we have of him.
The above picture is of my sister, Gail, and my brother, Glenn. This picture was taken last Wednesday, January 23rd. This is the rocky bluff we have chosen for our family’s memorial service for my father. This post and our earlier posts (High Flight, Dance Me to the End of Love, Remembering Grandpa, The Family Man, Daddy’s Girl, Sons of My Father, In the Arms of Love, HeART and Soul and Perspective: December 8, 1941) are dedicated to him and his memory.
A true Renaissance Man of his generation, my father had many, many talents – music, photography, flying, sculpting, painting, building fine furniture, building houses, fixing cars, building airplanes, etc. We always thought he could do just about anything. But, his greatest talent was that he was a good, loving father and an adoring husband. He loved his family as fiercely as anyone can love and was never afraid to show us.
Below are many, many photos (too many photos) celebrating his life, his loves, his passions, his hobbies, his early years, his middle years, his later years. My siblings helped me curate these photos over the last several days as we work through, emotionally, life without our father. These “Pictures at an Exhibition” are our requiem for our father. They are in no particular order. Dad, we love you, we miss you and we know you are at peace.
Dad and his “squished caterpillar green” BMW.
The early years of his Air Force career.
Camping and swimming with Dad (my sister, Dawn and my brother, Glenn, are featured; and, of course, our Mom.
Dad sharing a moment with Glenn with Dawn looking on. This was at my parent’s 50th wedding anniversary celebration in the year 2000.
A special gift from my mother one Christmas – a beautiful blue sculpture by another artist.
Dad and his music – the top left and right pictures include his sister and brother. Dad played the clarinet and saxophone.
Dad on his swimming team in college.
Dad building his Long EZ airplane designed by Burt Rutan.
My Dad and my brother (and my mother).
Mom and Dad thru the years.
Such a glamorous couple – they look like movie stars!
Dad and my sister, Gail.
Dad and my sister, Dawn.
Dad and Mrs. Claus (my mother).
Dad – May 2011
Dad and Mom thru the years.
Dad and his hobbies.
Dad with all of us kids – Easter 1963. Mom was the photographer.
Dad as a young man in the late 1940’s.
Dad putting my mother’s new Eames chair together.
Dad thru the years and some of his grandchildren at Yosemite.
Dad in Europe in 1998.
Dad at Sea World with Glenn, me and Glenn’s kids. Glenn’s wife, Missy, was the photographer.
Dad the artist
Left to right: Dad’s college picture, me and Dad, Dad in his Austin Healey.
Dad and Mom at my wedding to Charlie.
Dad on January 4, 2013 – a few weeks before he passed away.
Charles F. “Chuck” Moore – August 25, 1929 to January 19, 2013
Rest in Peace
In mourning for my father,
Related Posts:
(other posts about my father)
I’m so sorry to hear of the loss of your father. How lucky you were to have such a sweet, loving dad.
Yes, we were so lucky. I miss him so much. Thanks for your kind words.
I admire your strength to still share so much during such a difficult time. Thanks for opening up.
Thanks, Elizabeth. It helps me to deal with my grief everyday. I loved him so.
What a great tribute to your Dad! Thank you for sharing!
Thanks, Kathy. He was a wonderful father.