Still remember you David, how you would come up to the shop for a body and a cup of coffee. If it wasn't busy we often would talk for hours.

NOTES RE:  DAVID WARREN KEIR 
(MARCH 08, 1913 – OCTOBER 12, 2013)

David was born to a 40 year old Dad and a fifteen-year younger Mother. Both parents were from large families, whose standards were set high. His Dad was of Scottish descent; his Mother immigrated from Cologne, Germany to Canada.

Mike Allan met Dad only once, at his at his 100th Birthday. After learning Dad had departed, Mike phoned us, leaving a thoughtful message: “What an incredible person Dave was – he was a special man who'd lived an amazing life by his own terms, who'd left on his own terms!” 

Dad had been raised to be very private about religion / politics … and to be a gentleman who minded his manners, as well as his own business. He could keep any secret, and no prying would change that. 

Mother Nature was glorified every way possible, with Dad's appreciation of everything our Great Creator designed for our human benefit. Throughout-out his life, he created uncountable artful objects, non-stop. In his twenties he made amazing marionettes. Later on, he hunted for wooden burls, transforming them into objects of functional beauty or making a creation based on inspirations he derived from a certain piece. He had a gift (from youth) for doing caricatures. He was reprimanded in his youth, for having achieved true resemblances of neighbours. Dad did several paintings of pretty models in ballet tutu's (for example) with a comical mouse next to his signature (beneath a stool, or another prop). His sense of humour was priceless! This was evident, as well, in six large cases, filled with his ingenious apple-doll-characters. Whenever Dad was out ‘in the woods,' sitting upon a stump, a rock, a heap of moss, whatever, he was always whittling something. Dad never went anywhere without his pocket knife, sharpening stone, and pockets full of useful survival items. He could live in wilderness (regardless of conditions) for as long as he wished. He was keenly observant, as well as skilled.

Dave was very inventive, having been forced to cope with little comforts/ needs during tough times. He became an expert at making-do, using unlikely things to create useful objects. Necessity, as well as, seeing how he could improve upon things, fed his imagination/ his enjoyment tackling intriguing challenges. He was never bored!

He was a man of quiet courage, strong determination, plus perseverance with fortitude. Dad completed whatever he started – doing whatever it was, to the best of his ability. At age forty, he took the old adage: “Life begins at forty,” seriously. From as early as he could recall, he'd wanted to fly. At a very young age he'd had a dream where he was flying an aeroplane, only to awaken to his Mother's sewing on her treadle machine. At forty he began flying lessons, and within short order passed with ‘flying-colours!' Since getting his wings, he owned four Luscombe air-craft, his favourite (for its acrobatic possibilities). We have many great stories about Dad's flying experiences! 

Dad was very musical throughout his long life. Before school-age, until he left the farm, Dave called their cows home for milking, using a conk shell. Dad whittled a variety of whistles, while out in the woods. He made his moose-call devices out of whatever sounded right. At an early age, Dave took lessons on a violin, inherited from his Mother's German-born Dad. When in his teens he, (on his fiddle) with sister, Helen, (as pianist) along with their younger brother, Jim, (a trumpeter) played week-ends in their father's Dance Hall. Dad was, also, an excellent Dancer who loved dancing. Actually, he glided to music. Dad never stopped loving good music, unless it was cranked-up to “blast one's ears off.” He played various instruments, sharing his love of good music with family and friends. Unfortunately hearing impairment made what he played difficult to actually know if he heard correctly; but, he never gave up. He would pick up his harmonica during his last years, after parting with his precious mandolins to a special musician, Adi Schmidt, Germany.  

Dad's christening gown was a long white, elegant lace affair. Even though he wore it as a baby, he remembered how uncomfortable it was, and how much he'd disliked it. However, Dad dressed up in female attire, as a special guest-artist for our annual ice show. This was in early 1950's, in Penticton, when Len and I belonged to Glengary Figure Skating Club. Dad played the role of a well-endowed, female. He was the BEST of clowns! Roars of laughter could be heard throughout his entire act!  He learned dare-devil stunts, no pro in our club would attempt. As a youngster, Dad made his own blades and attached them to his regular shoes. All the Athabasca kids jumped over oil barrels, ‘cooking-up' trick-moves to out-do one another. Dad was born with a very competitive spirit – it was hard to beat him at anything! His performance was skilful, hilarious, and a real hit with audience, making Len and I very proud. He was such a loving human, supporting, encouraging everything we attempted … ‘playing-down' his successes, when we could not achieve the same. He could spin faster /better than I ever could, and he had taught himself. He coached Len who spun so fast, he was just a colourful, whistling-blurred object. I never gave up; but my twirls were the fizzle-out-style – Dad praised me for my efforts, which was very thoughtful.
When I did not follow his explicit instructions for making chocolate fudge (first time) having rock-candy results, he empathized- I'll never forget. He could cheer us up over anything that went awry
When we were sick or hurt, Dad always made us feel better. He had so much compassion for others. When Mother was extremely ill with cancer, she told everyone Dave was the best nurse she'd ever known. Having been an exceptional nurse herself, we knew Mother's judgement was correct. 

When my husband, Jan, and I were on a holiday with Dad (in Athabasca, Alberta) we met Dad's Baby-sitter. She raved about what a model-baby he'd been. The two kindred spirits were priceless, sharing tales of the past. Gladys Wright and Dad kept in touch until her last year. Gladys lived to be 101 years of age.

Dad took to smoking a pipe his last few years, when friend Herb gave him cigars in the bush (because mosquitoes were harassing them both). Dad had been given the wrong blood type when he had surgery for his broken-jaw. Those pesky insects had never bothered him until then. When he wanted a puff, he would excuse himself saying: “I'm just going outside to catch up on my thinking,” adding: “I won't be long.” He always kept himself well hydrated, having his water-bottle beside him inside, outside, travelling anywhere.

One hunting season, Dad met a very large grizzly bear. It had, suddenly, dropped him into a squat-pose of overwhelming respect. The big fellow studied him, sensing Dad's non-threatening intentions.  Dad attempted to film him; but this creature was so massive, by the time he was in focus he was sauntering away. That was the first and the last time Dad went scouting about the territory, leaving his gun back at camp. The worst of it all, he told us, was he had to return to his tent using the same path the bear took. When we asked Dad if he'd been scared, he told us he'd been too tired to care. He'd covered miles of exploring for several days, prior to this. 

Dad had a way of making people laugh, whether or not it was his dry-humoured remarks, or his pulling pranks on others. He was a good sport about jokes being played on him. Occasional streaks of impish mischief kept him young! He lived to his end saying: “I'm not old, I'm a recycled teen-ager.” 

Dad switched to CBC Radio in his last year of life – he was disgusted by all the ridiculous ads – not worth paying price hikes for cable. In his last month & a half, he obsessively read seven large books about Charles Lindberg's life. He watched numerous videos about flying, when time permitted – Wings Over Canada (from a former television series) and several disks on History of Flight, in Canada. Finding time for these pleasures had to be squeezed between his busy daily routine of well-meaning visitors who'd ‘pop-in' to be entertained by his great stories. 

On the hottest day, of Dad's last summer (July 2013), he walked uphill to the nearest shopping centre. It was about 6 city blocks from his residence. He took cookies to his friends at Expert Hearing. The young ladies, there, offered to drive him home; but he politely declined. He rested on a bench along the way. He really enjoyed the warmth. 

Dad had a Big ‘Tribe'- all who were part of his love-circle. He was proud to have our title for him: Chief Golden Years. His last evening at Marg Kosa's and Myles Conway's he'd forgot his feather from Marg, for his cap. It bugged him – “I'll get it next time,” he told me our last phone chat. He sounded truly elated about everything else that final day.

I always measured every male to me Dad. That is why I was/still am so extremely fussy about males whom I consider worthy to be in my circle.

There was so much more to our beloved Dad than I can jot down; but perhaps, this helps to refresh our memories with a few highlights.

Lovingly offered:

Daughter: Rita Keir Bos

Dearest Dad, Your visiting me in a dream on the morning of March 27, 2014 meant so very much. I awakened still feeling your you-style hugs for me; remembering that you turned, calling my name. You were out in Nature, surrounded by light. I had a door frame around me with a dark, non-descript background; but the view in front was beautifully bright, spotlighting you in your favorite shiny brown coat. I am relieved to know you are happy where you are now - I smilingly cherish that you told me you were happy to NOT have to make your bed. You always kept everyone going with your great sense of humour. I have so much more I'd like to share about you which I did not tell at your Celebration of Life (Nov. 2, 2013)but I'll leave that for another day. Jan And I are visiting Diane and Len in their amazing, new home . Love, always Rita.

Meeting Dave a few years ago was a high point in my life.  I immediately claimed bragging rights and soon after returning to Missouri, most of my neighbors and friends heard about this amazing person.  To me, Dave displayed the 9 biblical "Fruits of the Spirit" and it pleased me to call him my cousin Dave.  "Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord: that they may rest from their labours; and their works do follow them."

Uncle Dave was a wonderful man.  We remember him as always being very kind, full of fun and loving to pull pranks, especially at our Mom's expense!  We especially remember the Christmas Eve marionette shows and Santa's appearance and of course the airplane rides.  He was a sweet kind man whom we loved dearly.  We will always have wonderful memories of Uncle Dave.

This is a man who set an amazing example for all to follow! He lived his life to the fullest right up to the last minute.  We should all be so blessed!  He will be sorely missed by all who knew him.  Knowing that he has found peace by joining loved ones who left this world before him, eases my grief.  Grampa squeezed every last inch out of life that he could, and I could not be prouder of him!!!

Our thoughts and prayers are with you in your time of grief.  May your memories bring you comfort.

OBITUARIO

David Warren Keir

8 marzo, 1913 – 12 octubre, 2013

Valleyview Funeral Home

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