Dear Friends, The 50th anniversary of my college graduation is coming in June.
Dear Friends, In his wonderful poem, Two Tramps in Mud Time, Robert Frost says: “But yield who will to their separation/My object in living is to unite/My avocation and my vocation/As my two eyes make one in sight./Only where love and need are one,/And the work is play for mortal stakes,/Is the deed ever really […]
Dear Friends, We were on our way to the airport last Wednesday night, headed for Cleveland to see Carlyn in her junior recital on Thursday night. Students at the Cleveland Institute of Music are required to do a junior and senior year solo recital.
Dear Friends, One thing leads to another. When you look back it sometimes seems there was a master plan, like an invisible hand moving you through the maze to bring you to this place to bring you to who and where you are today. Have you ever felt that way?
Dear Friends, As we ease ourselves into the new calendar year it’s understandable that we take a look back over the left shoulder, since we can’t twist the neck 360 degrees like the wise old owl.
Dear Friends, Carlyn is home for the holidays – she drove by herself from Cleveland, where she’s in her junior year at Cleveland Institute of Music. It was the first time she made the trip alone. Well, she wasn’t quite alone –she drove with her cello, her constant companion!
Dear Friends, The earth has made another trip around the sun. What a trip!
Dear Friends, I’ve hiked where the trail is so clearly apparent that there’s no danger of getting lost among the trees. I’ve hiked where I’ve had to follow the painted markings on trees in order to stay on a particular trail – thankful for those who ‘blazed the trail’ for me to follow.
Dear Friends, There were 21 in this year’s Coming of Age class. On Saturday night each of them stood at the candle table, individually, and spoke to their family, telling them what they most appreciated about them – to thank them, and to express their love.
Dear Friends, While walking along Compo beach this morning I watched a bright red ball emerge from the east end of Long Island Sound. It was a little after seven o’clock. I was tempted to stop to watch the colorful show, but walkers don’t stop until the course is finished.