A SHORT, FUNNY POEM

It's been nice having Anne home from Texas today.  I picked her up at the airport this afternoon, and she always adds such a spark of life and excitement to life.  We we went grocery shopping this afternoon in preparation of Sunday's brunch at John's and Amy's home.  It appears that it will be quite a gathering--kind of like Christmas Eve in September.  Will John have his Festivus Pole on display?

A couple of years ago I clipped a coupon from the Sunday paper and ordered some miraculous raspberry bushes.  They didn't do much last year, nothing at all approaching miraculous, but, this year, they just keep producing berries.  Last year, Gwen loved it whenever I found some berries on the bushes and brought a handful in for her.  That seemed so ordinary then--can it only be a year ago?

The rain we've been having finally quit long enough for me to get out and pick some berries.  My friend, Dan,--I think of him as my friend now, I know that I can count on him for anything I might need--came out and talked with me.  It sets such contradictory feelings in emotion when I think of how I didn't get to know him until this year.  Prior to now, matters inside the house concerned me so much more than what might be happening in my back yard.

This all ties together, Dear, in this poem that I wrote back when the next weekend with you was all that mattered.  Now, I find the simple words prophetic and so relevant to today:

A SHORT, FUNNY POEM

Love is pretty, love is fun;

love is two, acting as one.

Love is forgetting things given up,

and thinking instead of what we have.

Yes, love is pretty, love is fun;

but not when you’re far away from your hon.

In a letter to Gwen, September 25, 1962

. . .far away from your hon. . .once again, thing don't mean anything until they mean something.  Gosh, how I miss being away from you.