Ouiji Board Predictions

It was about 1963 when 3 preteen girls playing with a Ouiji board at a slumber party, that one of them asked the board "what year will I get married?"  To my surprise it lead us through 4 numerals, 1974. I do not have any idea  how the Ouiji board works, nor do I believe in magic future-predicting boards manufactured by Parker Brothers. On December 21, 1974 I married Harold Kelly Martin, III (Kim). Coincidence? Maybe, but to tell the truth, shortly after I graduated from college that August, we decided when Kim finished his fall semester and his senior directing project, it would be a good time to get married...and it happened to still be 1974.

When I met Kim Martin it was 1971 and we were in college at Abilene Christian College (now ACU). Having completed my freshman year at ACC, I was now a sophmore when Kim, an incoming freshman, walked into the choir hall. I noticed this tall, lanky, dark-haired guy who had an endearing almost shy persona. Although, in spiite of first impressions, he walked with confidence appearing focused on the class. Making no introductions to me that first day, I don't know if he even noticed a blonde-haired girl checking him out. He was good looking and I wondered why he was wearing a worn faded red hoodie with a yellow ribbon tied to the hood pull. I later learned the yellow ribbon was from a girl he would soon forget all about.

The fall of 1971 got cold fast. I was dating a smart-mouthed redheaded guy who was just fun to hang out with. Jimmy and I played in the snow on the lawn of Abilene Christian High School that adjoined the college campus. He was hiliarious, made me laugh and paid a lot of attendtion to me, but I could see this relationship had no depth. After lunch in "The Bean" (the college cafeteria), Jimmy walked me to choir where Kim and another guy who would later ask me out, were waiting for class to begin.

Memory still shows me that other boy's face in my mind, but I cannot even remember his name. Not long after Jimmy and I had called it quits, my nameless classmate sent a request inquiring if I'd go out with him. Now that I think about it, I believe the invitation came by way of a girlfriend. He was a sweet, shy guy in the choir, but I declined his offer to go on a date. I don't really remember the details, I just know I did not go out with him. Years later I would learn from Kim that he only had the guts to ask me out because he thought I was nice to go out with such a plain guy. So, naturally he thought I'd go out with him. (Who by no means was "plain"). True confessions: I felt like a heel because I wasn't the nice girl he thought. I had not gone out with that sweet boy after all because he really was rather plain.

Kim was a theater major in the fall homecoming musical which in 1971 was "Camelot". He had already auditioned and was cast in the play by the time a request for more singers was sent to the choir. I thought it would be fun and signed on to sing in some of the scenes. As it turned out I sang in two different scenes. One was with about 4 other girls on a backstage microphone on the song, "Follow Me" and the other song, "Guenevere" was performed onstage costumed in a black scroud standing high up on scaffoling with the additonal chorus. What a fun time I had! I'd performed some on stage in choirs from elementary through high school, but I'd never been in a big musical like this. As the rehearsal process of the play continued, I met a lot of new friends and had fun talking to the backstage crew guys on stage-right where I hung out. As the performance dates approached, we were all told to begin staying in the green room until our entrances. So, I had to give up friendly conversations with the stage manager and move to the green room with other friends. One of the guys waiting in the green room, Ron, I had met in choir, or maybe another class, it's hard to recall after 40 years. Although, it could have been that I met him through one of my girlfriends in the dorm who knew Ron from her hometown church in Oklahoma. Anyway, Ron was the only other person sitting in the green room that I knew. We enjoyed visiting until our entrances to go on stage. Through the course of our time in the green room, another guy would join us from time to time and my friend, Ron, introduced me to the tall, lanky dark-haired guy who had strolled confidently into my choir class at the start of the semester. Kim Martin was cute, sweet and from the beginning we seemed to make a connection.

Shortly after the play closed, my friend, Ron, asked me out on a date to a movie. We had a good time, but that was the last date we had for no particular reason and would remain friends. By the close of "Camelot", Kim and I were friends. He saved us seats to sit together at the closing cast party on the empty stage of the Abilene Civic Center. Still we had not been on a date yet. Then, "Blood, Sweat, and Tears" came to the Abilene Coliseum and a friend of a friend (blind date) asked me out to see the concert. Shortly after I had accepted the concert date, I got a phone call in my dorm from Kim. He also invited me to go with him to the concert. I told him I already had a date. It happened that another dormitory friend from Baytown, knew Kim from her hometown church, Missouri Street Church of Christ. I told her when I got the invitation from Kim that I really didn't want to turn him down, but I couldn't break the date I already had accepted. I also told her I really hoped Kim would ask me out again. She saw Kim one day and told him how disappointed I was that I already had a date and couldn't go with him. Shortly after that and before the concert, my dormitory had an Open House when the guys could come in to see our rooms. Kim came to see me and he asked me to go to church with him. I have forgotten so much about that blind date, but I can still remember the clothes that Kim was wearing and which church we attended that Wednesday night. After that is history. 

Not that it was all candy and roses, we managed to stay together through good times, misundertandings, fun in the snow and Kim's romantic roles on stage. I learned that I can be a jealous person. That's another story for another time. We did, however, break up only for a few weeks and found we were miserable apart; well, I was anyway. Then, on December 21, after my graduation in 1974, we  married. Just like the old Ouiji board had predicted. It's been the ride of a lifetime with this confident Martin man. The years have been an entertaining, frustrating, loving, rewarding, hectic work evolving two people into one. Kim and I could never stop working on our marriage because we are ever changing, therefore, our marriage paradigm is ever changing, too. We have a much deeper relationship than when we first met at ACU, but as we evolve there are still things to learn about each other. As our love continues to grow, we are committed to a successful marriage. 40 years! Yes, it is a long time to stay with one person, but when you commit for a lifetime, 40 years isn't long at all. I can not imagine life without Kim. It's just not possible. He is my mate and consistent love for the remaining days of my life. And to think, the journey all started with a Ouiji board. Or, did it?

December 21, 2014 in San Antonio, TX.

Too Much Facebook

Today I started to post my "status update" to Facebook when I realized that my "friends" know too many details about my personal life. Why do I feel the need to tell them I'm struggling with my weight and counting calories again? It surprises me when I see a friend somewhere in town or another city and he/she knows all about my family, my thoughts, and what activites I've done lately. They even know about my cats and my son's dog who lives with us.  Although, it really should not surprise me. After all, I posted dirty laundry and all on Facebook for the world to see. Why would I do that?

My blog has suffered since I got on Facebook. Entries to Etxgirl.blogspot.com are fewer than when I first began the blog due to spending too much time writing status updates sometimes 3 to 4 times daily and reading everyone elses posts. What was left for me to write about? It occured to me that the need to write about what is going on in my life was the whole reason I began a blog. The blog is an outlet to process thoughts and "tell" people about me, my life. It also occured to me that is the reason I stay on Facebook so much. Even more intoxicating is the instant response I receive in comments from my friends on Facebook. It is the addictive nature in me to check in to see who has commented on a post or a picture I shared. To my detriment, my curiosity can't wait to read later what has been commented on by my friends.

So, I have decided that instead of checking Facebook daily I will allow myself a weekly check in or update, then log off after each checkin. I am impressed by friends who are never on Facebook or who read but do not post. They show great self control in my opinon. Also, I'm sure they never watch serial TV with multiple episodes just because they can. That's another thing I have a tendency to do, binge TV watching of a particular series. That, however, is a subject for another blog. 

My hope is by spending less time online, my daily tasks will be completed. Typing up a story a couple of times a week or month (I'll see how it goes.) will give me the satisfaction of telling about something that has happened in my life or family. Also, by limiting myself, I hope to not devulge so many personal details that really should be kept to myself or close family. 

Today I started counting caloriess I put into my system each day. This is not new, but a reoccuring activity for me. My life is full of do-overs. Weight has been a struggle all of my life. Self control is not one of my strong points. That is why I was drinking too much several years ago. The over-drinking is under control now. It is clear to me that I tend to binge on quick self-gratifying things like drinking, eating, and watching TV marthons of my favorite characters. Television "friends" are a little like Facebook friends. They are not really here for me. It can't be healthy for me to spend so much time with digital friends.

Finally, I want to deepen my relationship with Jesus. Maybe cutting back on Facebook or any other social media will aide in that endeavor. Our church family are loving people, but I'm often too judgemental of them. As Christians we are called to serve others in need and to love one another. I see my church community serving where I am not. They love each other enough to gather 2 or 3 times weekly with each other. My daily interaction with Facebook friends will not grow my faith or love of God's children. I know what I have to do and pray for the self control to do it.

Lord God, forgive my foolish ways. Help me, help others. Amen

A New Typing Tool

I am learning to type on a small 12" keyboard that I bought to go with my iPad. My 8 year old Macbook Pro wouldn't open her monitor last week. I had to take her to Fry's electronics store today for their tech guys to remove her hard drive. She sits in the new case we bought her former body now an empty shell. Next, I will connect her new USB to another computer to see if she lives externally. If she does, then, I can download all the files and photos from her hard drive to keep in Dropbox.

My husband says that he wouldn't have to worry at all about his files because he has been downloading everything he writes onto Dropbox for a long time. Gee, Honey, thanks for sharing. Oh well...it was cheaper to pay to have the hard drive removed, buy an external case and a keyboard with bluetooth for my iPad, than it would be to purchase a new Macbook Pro.

There will probably be another computer at some point though. I don't mind this mini keyboard and screen for now, but it just is not big enough. I was able to download Microscoft Word to use on the iPad and it works just like the old version on the old computer. I also like that I was able to sync to Dropbox for saving files, but still, it is like playing a concerto on a toy piano. So small.

While the size does seem to matter for me, it doesn't matter to Homer. It's a computer, I am trying to type and he will try to lay his head on my hands on the keyboard. *eyes rolling*

Serenity

Sometimes we need a fairy godmother to wave her wand over our lives. A wave of her wand and old cars are new, house repairs are done, yard work a thing of the past and sad feelings go away. Or I know my Christian friends would say we need Jesus and all that is needed is to pray to God for help. That is how I was raised, to believe that Jesus is the answer to all our problems. I know in my head that is true, but sometimes, what I observe doesn’t seem to be in my heart that prayers fix problems.

Either way, whether by fairy godmother or God, we need some relief from stress and worries that tend to be creeping into our lives. And since I’m certain a fairy godmother doesn’t exist, I must rely on my God who I know does exist. It is nothing earth shattering like catastrophe by nature or tragedy by death or any of a number of horrific circumstances we hear of unfortunate individuals living with these days that has me wishing on a star. No, it is simply change in life. Transition from a once active person both physically and mentally, to a slower person’s days interrupted by the occasional specialty doctor visit or even an ER visit while we deal with new aches and pains in our mortal bodies. Some of us don’t slow down with ease or grace. Accepting that our lives much change just because our bodies are aging is difficult. We enjoyed, and mostly took for granted, our abilities to simply go out in the backyard to pull weeds, bend down to pick up sticks or mop the floors, even doing our daily jobs is different now that we are older.

When we can’t do what we want because of physical or mental stress, it is a big deal particularly if we have not experienced that feeling of helplessness or illness before. Something others might not notice is that we are sad about this change. We long for the old days when we had more energy, could move easier, stay up long hours, sleep late on Saturdays, work around our house and go to work on Monday with the vitality we once had. Above all we miss being happy about our lives.

Retirement at 55 years old perhaps was too early for me to throw in the towel. I still substitute teach and give tests with our school district. I attempted other part time jobs, but none seemed to be a good fit for me. The jobs didn’t feel comfortable or like I was making a needed contribution that mattered. Substitute teaching and getting back into schools around familiar surroundings and things I know has felt like going home. Working with students, in my opinion, is making worthwhile contributions to society and it’s like riding a bike for me. The money would be better if I’d work more days, but then, where would the retirement come in? No, I am past dealing with children’s behavior issues or getting worked up because my stomach is not cooperating on an early morning before classes start. It’s just too much to deal with anymore, but still, I miss being part of the education team. The thing I particularly miss is the paycheck every month. So, to work a few days a week or in situations where there is little stress, suits my needs even if it doesn’t suit my bank account.

My husband has not retired yet, but switched jobs 2 years ago from a high school theater teacher to a community college theater instructor. He’s good at it, but I believe the change in institutions was more than he anticipated. There are new rules, policies and lessons to learn, more pressure to succeed. Hours rehearsing a play are long and tiring, plus preparing/teaching classes are a strain for the older person he is now. He strives to put forth his best efforts so students, audiences, and the college benefits from his work. That is a lot of responsibility to shoulder even for a person of his experience in this line of work.

This stage of our lives presents new challenges and expectations. I didn’t anticipate our bodies to groan so much as quickly in our early 60’s. I suppose that was naïve of me to think that we’d go along painlessly as we near the end of our second third of life. In my mind I have divided my life into thirds of 3 decades each. That would put us in the last decade of the second third of life. Does that seem morbid? Well, if it does, it’s fine because that is what I thought about as I turned 60 years old. If I live to be 90 years old, I have less than 30 years to live. Both of my parents and my older brother passed away by the time they were in their early 70's. If genetics play any part in my lifespan I may have less days to enjoy life on earth. Morbid to think about perhaps, but how am I going to handle this? Sadly, I thought that I’m running out of time to do something worthwhile with my life. What do I do? The best thing I've tried to combat the sad feelings was quite by accident. I began to notice others who are already well into the last third of their lives. Many people I’ve observed are well into their 80’s, approaching 90 with life still to live. Some are writers, others church teachers, some play instruments, sing, and paint or give example of living well simply by the way they treat others. What I love to see are elderly people smiling, laughing at children, and enjoying this day in their life.

Our lives can become melancholy as we age and we reminisce of days gone by whether we want to or not. Living in the past is not healthy, it can even be depressing as we continually mourn the passing of a life that once was. Change is inevitable and life is constantly evolving. In what form we live out that evolution is up to us. Make plans, do good to others, make sacrifices of some kind for the greater good, and helping other people might allow our minds to transition into the “twilight years” with a happier heart.

The Serenity Prayer

by theologian, Reinhold Niebuhr (1930’s or ‘40’s)

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.
Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.
Amen.

Old Men and Grandfathers

A couple of elderly gents sitting on a park bench talking or relaxing in chairs outside of a gasoline station never fails to stir emotion in my heart. I’m not sure from where my feelings originate, but I suspect from my own sweet elderly grandfather. My dad’s father was a man I only saw about once or twice a year growing up. We lived in southeast Texas and the drive upstate to the Red River community of Ryan, OK was a full day’s journey. Memories of my Oklahoma grandparents are few because of that distance between our homes. In my mind, they only came to see us in Texas one time and photographs are the reason I know. I do not remember their visit. Thankfully, with the help of relatives and hard work by others working on the Ritchey genealogy, I know more facts about my grandfather than I could have remembered.

From a little girl’s viewpoint, Dad Ritchey, as my cousins and I called him, was an interesting, funny, quiet little old man with a gentle spirit. He was already an elderly white haired man when I was born in 1952. He was born John Renrick Ritchey on October 4, 1880 and passed away 89 years and 4 days later on October 8, 1969. I was 17 years old when he passed away and I did not attend his funeral. It was just too sad because Mama Ritchey, (Beulah Mae Crump Ritchey) my grandma, passed away just 5 months earlier that same year.

The John R. Ritchey family. The little blonde haired boy in the middle is my daddy.

Dad Ritchey’s short, roundish frame moved slowly across the florescent-lit den at the back of the house to his chair near the windows. I remember he would whistle softly through his pursed lips as he shuffled his feet across the floor. My grandfather could recite all the presidents of the United States in order from Washington to Eisenhower without missing a beat. As if that wasn’t impressive enough, he could also say their names in reverse order. It was only when my older brother showed expressed approval of our grandfather’s feat of memory that I realized my granddad had done something few others his age could. After that we often asked Dad Ritchey to demonstrate his knowledge of U. S. presidents. I fondly remember the grin on my daddy’s face listening to his dad show off for the grandkids.

Over the years what seems right to me about my Oklahoma grandparents in truth may not be too accurate. As kids, we were all over their house in Ryan playing hide and seek, pushing each other in the wheelbarrow, playing upstairs and on the cellar door in the backyard. I remember their house very well. My cousins and I loved playing in the attic bedroom. Walking up the stairs we had to pass the vent for the large attic fan. My brother tried to convince me a monster lived there and I'd quickly zip up the stairs passed the vent to avoid the monster's claws. The long, narrow upstairs bedroom had a sloped ceiling and a window at each end of the space. There were two twin beds, flowered wallpaper and a trunk of intrigue, if memory serves me right. I don’t remember ever opening the trunk and now I wish we had. What treasure we might have found! Many times my cousin and I played dolls upstairs and the dry, dusty Oklahoma breeze gently blew through the screens. As I lay in bed at night, I could hear the large 18-wheelers and cattle trucks traveling through Ryan on the main highway not far from their house. Behind the house was a cellar with a sloped metal door to play on. There were no cellars where I lived in Texas, so this thing was new, different and fun. The roof of the cellar was a concrete slab that was about a foot off the ground. I thought it was the perfect stage for many singing and acting performances. I loved to slide on the cellar door when it was closed and I still can hear Mama calling to me from inside to “stay off of that cellar!”  Going down inside of the musty smelling cellar was creepy, but I loved it. Mama Ritchey canned vegetables and fruit preserves from Dad Ritchey’s little garden, and stored the cans in the cool cellar. She served her canned beets one night at dinner. I’d never eaten beets before, but gave them a try when she insisted. Dad Ritchey ate peas on the wide blade of the table knives, which I always thought was an odd way to eat little peas. There are still certain food combinations I eat that remind me of meals at their house.

Mama and Dad Ritchey the way I remember them.

A funny story about Dad Ritchey happened when I was about 5 or 6 years old. He was asleep on the couch and I observed the slightest gray whisker stubble on his face. I had a strong curiosity about how the stubble would feel if I touched it. It was too much for me to resist and laying my little hand on his face, I rubbed his whiskers. As I thought he was asleep you can imagine how I jumped and screamed when Dad Ritchey raised up with an abrupt, “Brrr-uh!”  I laughed so hard and so did he. If my grandfather ever hugged me, I do not remember. It’s been too long and I was too young for that memory to have stayed with me. I think my grandfather was a humorous man, but had a serious side and chose just the right time to joke with us.

Once strong men like Dad Ritchey provided for their families during the roughest of times, and were hard workers of the earth, plowing out gardens, and building homes. Although, regrets are erroneous, it is unfortunate we didn’t live closer to my grandparents so I could have known them better. The memories I have may not be exact, but they are my memories. I’m blessed to have known Mama and Dad Ritchey and to know something of my ancestry.

Beach Days

The sun-drenched mornings of spring sang out announcements of approaching summer in suburbia. Cool breezes and bright sunlight reminds her of by-gone days spent at the beach watching sea gulls and pelicans flying effortlessly over the waves of ocean water. Visual memories of the random brown pelican spying its next meal in the murky bowl of sushi water suddenly dive bombing into the ocean and then emerging victoriously never ceased to amaze the girl. It was not for having spent numerous days at the beach that make her yearn for sandy beaches, but the happy memories of a child walking on the warm sands of the Gulf. So pleasantly memorable, she is sent on a vacation of time travel back to the slow, carefree days spent on a Gulf Coast beach in Texas.

As a child the start of summer occasionally brought weekends with her parents and brother at a beach house. Her dad repaired and painted a beach house for an elderly couple with an invalid son who would soon arrive from the city to spend the summer. The couple’s friend back in the city allowed the little girl and her family to enjoy her beach house next door while her dad worked. During the hot days her dad worked preparing the house for the elderly couple while the girl and her brother played in on the sandy beach. It was most fun when Dad took a break to join them in the water playing, laughing and feeling the grit between their toes on the hot sand. Late in the day as the sun set, shrimp boats sailed into sight. Sitting on the porch juicy watermelon trickled down the chins of the children and a game of spitting seeds would bring the day to an end.

Hot sticky days turned into hot sticky nights of sitting on the edge of a short bed, looking through window screens at the ocean waves. A full moon threw a spotlight on foaming white caps as they tumbled down on the sand. Listening to the waves crash in and out like a huge sea creature’s breathing was hypnotizing. Through the open windows, a humid Gulf Coast breeze blew across the open area of the room and the little girl felt sleep would never come. Although, with nothing more to do the next day except build sand castles, sleepily sit on the porch, soaking in the hot, lazy days of summer; it wouldn’t matter if she didn’t sleep tonight. Swoosh! Crash! In. Out. Swoosh! Crash! In. Out. Loud waves mingled in with the calls of sea gulls as they sailed above the swells of salt water. Trapped forever in my senses is the taste of salt on dry parched lips.

Sing, Birds!

On days like today, I wake up, make coffee, and open the patio door and listen. It’s spring and the birds are singing happily. The sweet aroma of the flowering Ligustrum trees outside my patio doors fills the air as honeybees flit about its blossoms. An occasional breeze wakes my wind chimes to play a tickling tune, a distant dove coos for its mate and the sun begins to warm the day. I love it! This is my favorite time for nature to show off, sing and prepare us for summer’s casual, lazy days. 

As much as this time of year revs me up to clean, create and make plans, it also makes me a bit melancholy. I start to feel sad, lonely and somewhat overwhelmed. My spirit wants me to jump up and get busy doing and creating all the lovely projects I’ve seen on Pinterest. My head shouts for me to get up! Get busy! Do something! and my soul seems sadly resistant to those demands. 

Late April 1993, my mother was sick. She had cancer and was not receiving treatments because by the time her disease was detected, the cancer was too far advanced. What is more, Mother’s doctor had not confronted her with the fact that she was dying. My brothers were not sure it was a good idea to burden her with her true condition, or perhaps they were simply not willing to break the news to our mom. As the "baby" sister, I was not feeling my voice heard, and wished someone would tell her that she had cancer…bad cancer. I thought she should know, would want to know and wished the doctor would tell her, but he did not. Even our daddy, with undiagnosed Alzheimer’s disease, seemed to know that mother was in dire straights. 

The last time I spoke to Mom, she was lying in her bed, contemplating a return to the hospital for a mastectomy because a surgeon had discovered the huge mass in her breast. Before I left her bed that Sunday, I told her that she did not have to go through with the surgery. I could tell she was apprehensive and since she had always been leery about going in the hospital for surgery, I just wanted to hint to her that this surgery was not going to help her. Her cancer was not only in her breast but also in her pancreas and spreading to other places in her body. One surgery was only going to make her uncomfortable and it wasn’t going to help her to live any longer. So, I simply told her that she did not have to go through with it. 

Many times as I drove home from Port Neches, I cried. My stomach stayed in knots, I seemed to be sleep deprived, and wanted to drink. Even in my restless nights, I know I dreamed. Mostly, I just wanted it to be over. That Sunday I drove back home I had to go to my school where I taught 2nd grade. I needed to catch up on work from the previous week of substitutes and make new lesson plans. As I drove to the school, my cell phone rang and it was my husband. I pulled over to park at a nearby gasoline station while I listened to him tell me he had just spoken to my older brother. Johnny, who was 10 years older than me and the “one in charge”, had talked to Mom after I left. He said that Mom had asked him what I meant when I told her she didn’t have to have the surgery. I think she really knew, but wanted the words said out loud. Poor, tough, gentle Johnny had to explain to our mother just how bad it was. She decided not to do go through with the surgery and to stay at home.

Soon after that I began to take turns with my brother, to stay with Mom. The last week before she died, she went into a coma. My sister in-law, Cynthia’s, mom was a retired LVN and she came to stay with me as we watched mother live out her last days. I am so very grateful for Barbara, words cannot express the fullness of my gratitude to her. Without Barbara, I do not know how I would have been able to function there with Mom. Mother finally passed away at 4:00 a.m., May 4, 1993. Barbara and I stood at the foot of Mom’s bed, listening for her next staggered breath. As she breathed her last, a single tear ran from Mother's eye. Barbara wrapped her arms around me, a sense of massive swelling formed in my chest and we cried. 

My other brother, Richard, is a very sensitive, emotional soul. He had only come in that last night to stay at the house with us and Johnny went home to sleep. I believe Richard didn’t know how to cope with Mom’s passing. I called Johnny to come back to the house. As the funeral director and ambulance response team were inside the house with the rest of us, Richard went outside to speak to a police officer who had also come. I have never asked him what they talked about, but I’m sure it was something nothing short of simply words to pass time.

Along with Mom, our sweet daddy passed 5 years later, my fun, bubbly sister in law, Cynthia, died of cancer and my strong, smart brother, Johnny, left us in 2011. It’s hard to believe and sad that I can’t speak to any of them again because I truly miss them all. As I write this, it would seem as though a phrase such as, "but all of them are together in heaven, talking with one another" would be implied here. But I don't know that it's true. They all surely passed to heaven because better people can not be found. As to whether they recognized each other and are carrying on conversations, is another matter. Although, it is a comforting thought.

Spring is my favorite time of the year. So, sing, birds! Sing and be happy in the warmth of the sun, the light of a new day, gentle breezes, and life will go on.