Xylophone
The dining-room table and chairs set us back twenty bucks. We seem to recall that we bought the 9′x12′ gold nylon tweed carpet new for fifty or so.

Note the forced-hot-water radiators. We paid extra for heat, but it never cost us much. The Toscanos, below us, liked their place warmer than we, and so we seldom had to turn on the valves. Except when we had towels or such to dry.
The Playskool xylophone, which Rick loved,1 reminds me of the shot that comes closest to giving me an excuse to call myself a photographer. Same toy, same place, same lad (a bit older). Originally a Polaroid. OK, so I’m immodest, with respect both to the boy and to the image.

Wasn’t he just beyond cute, in his little Sunday-go-to-meetin’ outfit?2
1Foreshadowing, perhaps, his later joys and distinctions in the musical realm.
2When, a couple of years later in France, the missionaries would want Elder Ricky to accompany them in their duties, President Grandpappy would insist that he wear a white shirt and tie, just as they did. So this was his standard outfit, which Valerie likes to say he wore out, doubtless setting a record for three-year-olds. But that’s for the next topic.
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