A letter from you once began,
Liz, my love,
I know you are having a wonderful time on the high seas. I doubt if I would have the courage to do it. At a younger age I flew off carriers but they were much larger... Mammo only sailed on the Hudson. I took her out on my cousin's sailboat in 1947. It was not an exciting adventure since the river was almost like glass - boring. She wasn't sold on the idea of sailing and that was the end of our nautical capers.
Thanks for the picture. I got a glimpse of my lovely granddaughter and another glimpse of my mother's beautiful blue eyes.
Oceans of love. Daddad
You were impressed by the adventures I might have had at sea, but you knew I couldn’t do any of it without the boundless energy, strength and inspiration I draw from you.
And I might still be off in far places, but you are always near, especially as I construct gliders out of styrofoam and fibre glass with my airplane fanatic friends! We had a flying contest after Christmas breakfast off their balcony. I could almost smell the balsa wood models and rubber-band propellers over the warm July grass. And in the not too far distance I could hear sea planes coming or going, but either way their engines murmuring memories of you.
As I sit and write now, I remember a report I once gave you on Willa Cather’s Song of the Lark, a birthday read thanks to Uncle John. I was enthralled by her craft and still am - how she weaves the delicate strings of pain that tie love and joy together.
I want you to remember, that although we miss you and feel a pang in our hearts, we will always love and celebrate you. Thank you for all the stories, memories, history and genes – your blessed presence will forever enrich our lives.
For not a day goes by that I don’t start a proud story with, “Well MY GRANDFATHER…”
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