Despite Mike's recent post about the random timing of our fair city's street cleaning schedule, I forgot and left my truck out front this morning. When the police unit pulled up behind the truck, I suddenly remembered, and dashed out the front door hoping to be allowed to move it before the ticket was written. The officer was just about to get out of the car, as I ran up apologizing, but then her expression changed abruptly and she froze.
June 1967, my family drove from upstate NY to Montreal for Expo '67, then down US-1 to Georgia, and across the south to San Diego, CA.
6 kids, aged 3 months to 11 years. Besides eachother and the scenery, our entertainment was a Latin primer, Chaucer's Canterbury Tales (illustrated and modernized), Tom Sawyer, a couple of Nancy Drews, a Richard Scary fairy tales picture book, and volumes 1 & 2 of My Book House collection for children, 1932 edition. took us 3 months. Us: Are we there yet? Daddy: "Just lookin for a parkin place, honey" Momma: (singing) ".. and I think I'm going outta my head... " This is what was on the radio: http://youtu.be/JOVQ4vAmM7Y?list=PLHdDwgcSY8sdWVWzZ3uG32CU4zWkPez-q Not sure if that'll load auto-playing, but it's been a fun list, let it play... When Earth's last picture is painted
And the tubes are twisted and dried When the oldest colors have faded And the youngest critic has died We shall rest, and faith, we shall need it Lie down for an aeon or two 'Till the Master of all good workmen Shall put us to work anew And those that were good shall be happy They'll sit in a golden chair They'll splash at a ten league canvas With brushes of comet's hair They'll find real saints to draw from Magdalene, Peter, and Paul They'll work for an age at a sitting And never be tired at all. And only the Master shall praise us. And only the Master shall blame. And no one will work for the money. No one will work for the fame. But each for the joy of the working, And each, in his separate star, Will draw the thing as he sees it. For the God of things as they are! - Kipling Left: Laurette Katharine Lunsford Hribal 1/2/1957 - 4/5/2009
Right: Oscar Mell Lunsford 1/5/1932 - 4/8/2009
Reflection and memory can seem so crystal clear after a death, so strong that there just isn't any doubt about the myriad tiny details that arise. Everything seems present for examination, and yet our tendency is to laud the dead; to raise them higher even than they may have been in life. To gloss over their imperfections; to better polish the sheen on the halo we construct to verbally adorn the heads of our loved ones. I'm indulging in some reminiscences, knowing these are precious and this extreme clarity will fade as the shock wears off.
All week it's been raining off and on, and I've been buried in the intricacies of US tax season. The weekend's bright sunny weather arrived along with a breakthrough in my understanding of the Schedule C instructions, which would mean much clearer and easier filing, but also that I have to start over again. Determined to enjoy the weather and avoid the computer, I puttered around the yard, making new discoveries and greeting old friends as each fresh green shoot emerged from the winter's leavings. So it was a surprise to see an email waiting for a few hours, from a family member far away, urging me to call, it's important.
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October 2016
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