Alferian (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} alferian) wrote,@ 2007-10-23 07:32:00 |
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An absolutely spectacular sunrise today with all the undulating clouds done up on pink and orange while the lazy Autumn sun rises slowly from his bed. It is a perfect interval of the morning with my lady wife off to work, my daughter still asleep, my grand newphews not yet arrived. I needed think about the before-school bustle and can listen to the clock tick and the potatoes frying in the pan for my breakfast. Out on the patio in my back garden, on of our fat squirrels is chewing up a small pie pumpkin we had sitting out there. He's scattered seeds (or the shells) all over the table and its gnawing away at the meat of the pumpkin. An Autumn feast!
My morning glories are still glorious. No hard frost yet in Minneapolis. And the two young oak trees growing outside my kitchen window have turned shades of gold and amber in preparation for Winter. My hawthorn tree has gayly scattered his haws all over the garden, happy that I was too lazy to harvest them and make jelly. I am just suffused with joy that Thorin (the hawthorn tree) produced such an abundant and healthy crop after two years of orange fungus taking the haws.
I amused Linnea one day by saying, "Le't count how many haws are on the hawthorn" and then proceeding with about ten minutes of "Haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw,"
We traveled to Iowa City over the weekend to gather with Sarah's family for the memorial service for her father who died a week ago. Dr. Richard Peterson, professor of nuclear medicine, and a pioneer in that field. I didn't know him until after he retired and he was always very quiet. When he wasn't reading a magazine in an armchair or nodding off, he was out waking his land with a pruning loppers, trimming the trees. A gentle and happy soul. For the past six or more years he's had Alzheimers and was in a care facility. My greatest regret is that I never got to know him better. Between his reserve and mine, we hardly ever chatted, even before the Alzheimer's set in. It was a beautiful memorial service. Looking at the pictures assemble from someone's life is always so remarkable and such a pleasure. He had five children and eleven grandchildren who survive him along with his wife and two brothers. Farewell, Dick!
Sarah and I are now both without fathers and Linnea has no grandfathers left. That is a sad thing, especially for Linnea. I think it is a better sort of world where children can spend time with their grandparents and learn from them. I long wistfully for a closer village where grandparents live in the same small area as parents and children and the family sees each other more often. I feel as if I know my family and Sarah's so slightly and meeting once or twice a year does not lead to really knowing each other well.
Which is one reason I'm grateful for my masonic family and my druidic one - friends and brothers with whom I hope to travel through life. Mostly quite new friends this year, but I have high hopes to grow old with them and get to know them well as years pass.
Well, off to breakfast now.
-- Alferian
My morning glories are still glorious. No hard frost yet in Minneapolis. And the two young oak trees growing outside my kitchen window have turned shades of gold and amber in preparation for Winter. My hawthorn tree has gayly scattered his haws all over the garden, happy that I was too lazy to harvest them and make jelly. I am just suffused with joy that Thorin (the hawthorn tree) produced such an abundant and healthy crop after two years of orange fungus taking the haws.
I amused Linnea one day by saying, "Le't count how many haws are on the hawthorn" and then proceeding with about ten minutes of "Haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw,"
We traveled to Iowa City over the weekend to gather with Sarah's family for the memorial service for her father who died a week ago. Dr. Richard Peterson, professor of nuclear medicine, and a pioneer in that field. I didn't know him until after he retired and he was always very quiet. When he wasn't reading a magazine in an armchair or nodding off, he was out waking his land with a pruning loppers, trimming the trees. A gentle and happy soul. For the past six or more years he's had Alzheimers and was in a care facility. My greatest regret is that I never got to know him better. Between his reserve and mine, we hardly ever chatted, even before the Alzheimer's set in. It was a beautiful memorial service. Looking at the pictures assemble from someone's life is always so remarkable and such a pleasure. He had five children and eleven grandchildren who survive him along with his wife and two brothers. Farewell, Dick!
Sarah and I are now both without fathers and Linnea has no grandfathers left. That is a sad thing, especially for Linnea. I think it is a better sort of world where children can spend time with their grandparents and learn from them. I long wistfully for a closer village where grandparents live in the same small area as parents and children and the family sees each other more often. I feel as if I know my family and Sarah's so slightly and meeting once or twice a year does not lead to really knowing each other well.
Which is one reason I'm grateful for my masonic family and my druidic one - friends and brothers with whom I hope to travel through life. Mostly quite new friends this year, but I have high hopes to grow old with them and get to know them well as years pass.
Well, off to breakfast now.
-- Alferian
