This photo of my dad and mom (before she was a mom), captures my mother’s fun and sparkle perfectly (and Dad’s kindness, too).
family
Letters from children held in detention by the United States government in Dilley, Texas.
One-hundred thirty-three years ago today, my dear grandmother was born. In 10 days, we’ll celebrate our dear granddaughter’s first birthday. The blessings roll down the generations.
… we clasp the hands of those who go before us, and the hands of those who come after us … – Wendell Berry (h/t @jabel)
They are waiting for me somewhere beyond Eden Rock: My father, twenty-five, in the same suit Of Genuine Irish Tweed, his terrier Jack Still two years old and trembling at his feet.
My mother, twenty-three, in a sprigged dress Drawn at the waist, ribbon in her straw hat, Has spread the stiff white cloth over the grass. Her hair, the colour of wheat, takes on the light.
She pours tea from a Thermos, the milk straight From an old H.P. sauce-bottle, a screw Of paper for a cork; slowly sets out The same three plates, the tin cups painted blue.
The sky whitens as if lit by three suns. My mother shades her eyes and looks my way Over the drifted stream. My father spins A stone along the water. Leisurely,
They beckon to me from the other bank. I hear them call, ‘See where the stream-path is! Crossing is not as hard as you might think.’
I had not thought that it would be like this.
21 June 1980
45 years
Today is the 40th birthday of my first-born and the 78th anniversary of my parents’ wedding. Kind of dusty in here.
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This painting hung in my mom and dad’s house for 60 years or more. Now it’s my sister’s. Artist unknown. I love it. 🐶
St. John’s Park Slope: wonderful! Alleluia! The Lord is risen!
