On May 20 we had a memorial for my father who passed away in October. We're not a religious family, so we just gathered in the chapel at the Veterans Cemetery to remember him. My nephew Ethan, a devilish child who somehow turned out to be a fine adult, stood and told a funny story that highlighted his Grampa's patience. The rest of us sat and shared memories, though I just listened as I still get choked up thinking about him, never mind talking.
I was making myself a cup of Yogi ginger tea yesterday, thinking about what to blog, when I happened to read the tag, which I rarely bother to do:
Dad often mentioned this saying, referring to a favorite (first grade?) teacher, Miss *** (I can't remember her name, but up until the last year or so he remembered EVERYTHING), and would lisp it the way his teacher did. A little sign from above in a teabag.
I was happy that John joined us from Alaska for a few days for the memorial. He has bought property outside of Anchorage and will be building a house there. Kate and Dan are also buying a house, in Mystic, so the kids are doing good.
John did come bearing Mother's Day yarn, bless him:
John, Les, and I took the first trip of the year for ice cream at Holy Cow, and enjoyed the sights at the neighboring gift shop.
Don't forget to Wear Orange on June 2 for gun violence awareness.