Mom's Magnolia

It's blooming .

A Love Letter

Yes, apparently my father wrote at least one. We found this in Mom's things, click on the photo for a larger version. The text is as follows, as close as I can figure it:














Dear Vera,

As promised, a few lines so you are at least certain of the correct address. It was very nice to talk to you last night, though I had quite a bit of trouble going to sleep. You were the cause of it, naturally. I do hope you will be able to make your connections next Saturday. It seems like an eternity until then, especially with so little to do. Probably it is somewhat the same with you, though there is usually plenty to do at the office.

From what you said I gather I missed quite a session with Mr. T and the boys. I really didn't think you would tell them, though I can't say why. Guess I'm still in this well known pink cloud and in no hurry to get back to reality. I'll try to be by Saturday though, and I'll be at the airport rain or shine. So write, wire or phone - Drake 4.9185 - but do come because everyone is anxious to see you - especially me.

Love,

Dan

Happy Anniversary

On Mom and Dad's Anniversary, a favorite of Mom's:

The Host Of The Air

O'DRISCOLL drove with a song
The wild duck and the drake
From the tall and the tufted reeds
Of the drear Hart Lake.

And he saw how the reeds grew dark
At the coming of night-tide,
And dreamed of the long dim hair
Of Bridget his bride.

He heard while he sang and dreamed
A piper piping away,
And never was piping so sad,
And never was piping so gay.

And he saw young men and young girls
Who danced on a level place,
And Bridget his bride among them,
With a sad and a gay face.

The dancers crowded about him
And many a sweet thing said,
And a young man brought him red wine
And a young girl white bread.

But Bridget drew him by the sleeve
Away from the merry bands,
To old men playing at cards
With a twinkling of ancient hands.

The bread and the wine had a doom,
For these were the host of the air;
He sat and played in a dream
Of her long dim hair.

He played with the merry old men
And thought not of evil chance,
Until one bore Bridget his bride
Away from the merry dance.

He bore her away in his atms,
The handsomest young man there,
And his neck and his breast and his arms
Were drowned in her long dim hair.

O'Driscoll scattered the cards
And out of his dream awoke:
Old men and young men and young girls
Were gone like a drifting smoke;

But he heard high up in the air
A piper piping away,
And never was piping so sad,
And never was piping so gay.


--W.B. Yeats

Mom and Ivy

Just got this photo of Mom and her great-grandaughter Ivy. There is another one far, far below on the blog, but always room for another. I got this one off of my sister Mary's brilliant blog , check it out if you get the chance.

http://greenpaper.typepad.com/