Today has been an emotional, yet rewarding day. I finally got a good night's sleep and slept in late. Then, off to the gym for an hour. Dick and Mary had paid me the honor of asking me to give a toast at their Golden Wedding Anniversary Dinner tonight, so I spent some time preparing some comments for that. Then I finally had time to view the royal wedding that I had taped. Quite surprisingly, I found myself crying all the way through it. Everything, every word just had so much more meaning. The beautiful bride reminded me of my beautiful bride. The words "for better of for worse," "in sickness and in health," and "until death do us part," were like hearing them for the first time. The whole ceremony was so beautiful. Gwen loved all that pomp and circumstance, I so wished she could have been watching it with me. The delicious tears I cried were a gift from her, a reminder of her continued presence in my life.
Tonight I enjoyed the anniversary celebration with Dick and Mary, family and friends. My "toast speech" went well, except that I began by addressing the wrong side of the room. There was another party in with us. You had to be there. The only tough part was when I talked about how fond Gwen was of our sister-in-law, Mary. She often talked about how she enjoyed Mary's company, and I know they often schemed against the brothers they had married. Now it's home and off to bed. I volunteered to serve as an usher at the UM Commencement Ceremonies at the Big House tomorrow, and have to be there at 7:00 a. m.
This poem was sent to me today. I think our children will find some joy in it:
Mother
Thank you, Dear, for teaching us so much about how to look at life--with great courage, determination and, always, good cheer.
Tonight I enjoyed the anniversary celebration with Dick and Mary, family and friends. My "toast speech" went well, except that I began by addressing the wrong side of the room. There was another party in with us. You had to be there. The only tough part was when I talked about how fond Gwen was of our sister-in-law, Mary. She often talked about how she enjoyed Mary's company, and I know they often schemed against the brothers they had married. Now it's home and off to bed. I volunteered to serve as an usher at the UM Commencement Ceremonies at the Big House tomorrow, and have to be there at 7:00 a. m.
This poem was sent to me today. I think our children will find some joy in it:
Mother
Mid April already, and the wild plums
bloom at the roadside, a lacy white
against the exuberant, jubilant green
of new grass an the dusty, fading black
of burned-out ditches. No leaves, not yet,
only the delicate, star-petaled
blossoms, sweet with their timeless perfume.
You have been gone a month today
and have missed three rains and one nightlong
watch for tornadoes. I sat in the cellar
from six to eight while fat spring clouds
went somersaulting, rumbling east. Then it poured,
a storm that walked on legs of lightning,
dragging its shaggy belly over the fields.
The meadowlarks are back, and the finches
are turning from green to gold. Those same
two geese have come to the pond again this year,
honking in over the trees and splashing down.
They never nest, but stay a week or two
then leave. The peonies are up, the red sprouts
burning in circles like birthday candles,
for this is the month of my birth, as you know,
the best month to be born in, thanks to you,
everything ready to burst with living.
There will be no more new flannel nightshirts
sewn on your old black Singer, no birthday card
addressed in a shaky but businesslike hand.
You asked me if I would be sad when it happened
and I am sad. But the iris I moved from your house
now hold in the dusty dry fists of their roots
green knives and forks as if waiting for dinner,
as if spring were a feast. I thank you for that.
Were it not for the way you taught me to look
at the world, to see the life at play in everything,
I would have to be lonely forever.
"Mother" by Ted Kooser, from Delights & Shadows. © Copper Canyon Press, 2004. Reprinted with permission.bloom at the roadside, a lacy white
against the exuberant, jubilant green
of new grass an the dusty, fading black
of burned-out ditches. No leaves, not yet,
only the delicate, star-petaled
blossoms, sweet with their timeless perfume.
You have been gone a month today
and have missed three rains and one nightlong
watch for tornadoes. I sat in the cellar
from six to eight while fat spring clouds
went somersaulting, rumbling east. Then it poured,
a storm that walked on legs of lightning,
dragging its shaggy belly over the fields.
The meadowlarks are back, and the finches
are turning from green to gold. Those same
two geese have come to the pond again this year,
honking in over the trees and splashing down.
They never nest, but stay a week or two
then leave. The peonies are up, the red sprouts
burning in circles like birthday candles,
for this is the month of my birth, as you know,
the best month to be born in, thanks to you,
everything ready to burst with living.
There will be no more new flannel nightshirts
sewn on your old black Singer, no birthday card
addressed in a shaky but businesslike hand.
You asked me if I would be sad when it happened
and I am sad. But the iris I moved from your house
now hold in the dusty dry fists of their roots
green knives and forks as if waiting for dinner,
as if spring were a feast. I thank you for that.
Were it not for the way you taught me to look
at the world, to see the life at play in everything,
I would have to be lonely forever.
Thank you, Dear, for teaching us so much about how to look at life--with great courage, determination and, always, good cheer.
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