Christmas 2009...Houston, Texas

Here I sit in my daughter Gail's living room...surrounded by six wonderful grandchildren and Ellie, my sweet granddaughter. How did I get to this stage of my life? It went by so fast and it has been so good. A wonderful husband, beautiful children, grandchildren, and now great-grandchildren. I find myself sitting watching them with wonder. God has been so good to me. So good to me.
My life has been surrounded by love and light...through difficult times and wonder filled moments.. The Lord has always been close..making sense out of all our experiences and drawing us closer and closer to His side. How kind. How gracious. How generous. Who am I? I can only answer, "His child"

With hope that we never lose sight of this.

George Washington's Thanksgiving Proclamation, 1789

"Whereas it is the duty of all nations to acknowledge the providence of Almighty God, to obey His will, to be grateful for His benefits, and humbly to implore His protection and favor; and Whereas both House of Congress have, by their joint committee, requested me to recommend to the people of the United States a day of public thanksgiving and prayer, to be observed by acknowledging with grateful hearts the many and signal favors of Almighty God, especially by affording them an opportunity peaceably to establish a form of government for their safety and happiness;

Now therefore, I do recommend and assign Thursday, the 26th day of November next, to be devoted by the people of these States to the service of that great and glorious Being who is the beneficent author of all the good that was, that is, or that will be; that we may then all unite in rendering unto Him our sincere and humble thanks for His kind care and protection of the people of this country previous to their becoming a nation; for the signal and manifold mercies and the favorable interpositions of His providence in the course and conclusion of the late war; for the great degree of tranquility, union, and plenty which we have since enjoyed; for the peaceable and rational manner in which we have been able to establish constitutions of government for our safety and happiness, and particularly the national one now lately instituted for the civil religious liberty with which we are blessed, and the means we have of acquiring and diffusing useful knowledge; and, in general, for all the great and various favors which He has been pleased to confer upon us.

And also, that we may then unite in most humbly offering our prayers and supplications to the great Lord and Ruler of Nations and beseech Him to pardon our national and other transgressions; to enable us all, whether in public or private stations, to perform our several and relative duties properly and punctually; to render our National Government a blessing to all the people by constantly being a Government of wise, just, and constitutional laws, discreetly and faithfully executed and obeyed; to protect and guide all sovereigns and nations, especially such as have shown kindness to us, and to bless them with good governments, peace, and concord; to promote the knowledge and practice of true religion and virtue, and the increase of science among them and us; and, generally to grant unto all mankind such a degree of temporal prosperity as He alone knows to be best."

At the Bend of the River: Back from a trip through the Panama Canal

At the Bend of the River: Back from a trip through the Panama Canal

Back from a trip through the Panama Canal

Rol has always wanted to see the Panama Canal...so, late in October, we sailed from Miami on Royal Caribbean's "Serenade of the Sea," for a trip through the canal.
I have to admit that I was less than excited about seeing the canal. But I have changed my mind. It was really fascinating to watch the ship transit the locks. Our ship slipped through with only a few feet to spare.
We passed through on a pleasant sunny day (unusual in the rainy season). Rain is really the resource that makes the locks work. The water flows into the locks from a created lake high along the continental divide, rather than being pumped up into them... Although, I understand that the new locks now being built will require reclaiming some of the used water.
The cost to our ship for its transit was $350,000. Next year this cost will rise to $500,000. and Royal Caribbean is not planning to come back for a while.

The ship was lovely and our accommodations were very nice. We rented an inside room and were very comfortable. We saved a considerable amount of money by booking our own air flight through Southwest Airlines. They allow booking legs. ..i.e. Philadelphia to Miami (one way) and San Diego (one way) back to Philadelphia.

We thought that the entertainment in the early evening was not as good as the entertainment we experienced a few years ago on an Alaska trip...I suppose they are trying to cut corners too. The food was good and plentiful.
we registered for four side trips and were fortunate that 3 of them were canceled. We quickly found that we could buy the same trips cheaper right at the dock and saved a quite a bit, while enjoying the same sights and excitement.

All in all, the trip was great...Rol had his interest in the locks satisfied and we both enjoyed ourselves..

What if There is No God!

He was about twelve years old; the freckles on his face gave him a Tom Sawyer appearance. A week at the beach had tanned his face and reddened his nose. When he saw our church banner, he strode across the boardwalk and paused in front of a pile of children’s books. Deliberately pointing his small finger at a colorful book titled “God loves you” he loudly proclaimed, “There is no God!!! It’s all a Big Bang.”

I was admittedly taken back; such authoritative misinformation from such a small person. I countered as pleasantly as I could, “Who started the Big Bang?” But it was no use. He became angry and shouted, “It’s all a Big Bang,” again and left.

An hour later he was back, walking with adults along the boardwalk. I turned to a companion and said, “There’s my friend.” The boy overheard and shouted back, “You’re not my friend,” and hastened to catch up with his companions.

And he was right! I had not been his friend. I had fenced with him on a childish level; but his faith was well established in the anti-God world of pseudo-wisdom. What should I have done? What should I have said?

How I longed to hug him, to point to the sky above, to show him the size of the universe. I wanted to talk to him about the complexity and value of his own mind and body. But someone got to him before I did; and they had taught him that the whole world was without any purpose . . . that he was without value, without hope.

He was angry. Who could blame him! He wore his disbelief like a protective shield and shot his words like bullets. But he was the victim of his own words, and the repeated words of others. Where had that anger come from? There was no amusement, no challenge allowed, no room for intellectual discussion.

I thought of other children far across the world whose families strap them with bombs and send them into public places to do as much damage as they can do as they die. They sacrifice the young lives on an altar of anger; for what? So that they can live in a world controlled by fear and hate?

Our country has become a nation of frustration. We have locked God and godly argument out of our schools and educational institutions. Now we are in the grips of drugs, disenchantment, frustration, and hopelessness.

Over the years we had been welcome at our booth near the beach. The town chief of police supported our effort to give out smiles, hope, and encouragement. But this year there had been trouble. We had been shouted at; our quiet music drowned out by loud speakers pointed in our direction carrying music with words that caused my mind to despair. We had to get a lawyer there to allow us to continue. Policemen stood across the boardwalk to make sure that I didn’t pass a book or flyer to anyone. What has happened to my country, to the freedom I knew. Why did a little boy make me so sad. Why couldn’t I give him hope?

A Needle in a Thousand Haystacks

When I spoke my marriage vows 50+ years ago, I seemed to hear an inner voice pronounce, “love, honor, and crew!” Both Rol and I had sailed small boats in our teens and preteens, but our immediate future didn’t hold any promise of sail or salt water and I put the temporarily put the thought aside. But the sea had a call on our lives.

A dozen years later we bought a Penguin and then a Rhodes 19, racing them down the Potomac River in Virginia and across Currituck Sound in North Carolina. When we moved back to New Jersey, we enjoyed onboard picnics and “serious” Sunday afternoon racing on the Navasink River.

The children grew, graduated, and married. In fact, in a crescendo of wedding marches, we passed from the marriage of our eldest daughter in April 1979, to the marriage of our youngest daughter in June of the same year. A new period of life loomed ahead of us. Our daughters belonged to new households. Our eldest son was almost through college and our youngest was about to graduate from high school. We had survived parenthood and landed on our feet, right in the middle of the empty nest syndrome. The world tells us that these would be our closing years, but that was definitely not what the Lord had in mind.

Our own 25th wedding anniversary was sandwiched in between the weddings. Rather than lose our stride and risk bankruptcy, we put off celebrating until the following October..

After last grain of wedding rice disappeared from the lawn and the wedding gifts were forwarded to the proper sets of newlyweds, we arranged to celebrate with the vacation of our dreams. Ten days sailing, swimming and snorkeling in the clear blue waters of the Caribbean seemed perfect. According to the travel agent we would fly from Newark to Puerto Rico and then to Martinique. In Martinique, a stateroom was reserved for us aboard a large sailing vessel. The itinerary was indefinite. We would "wander from Martinique north, island by island to Antigua".

This would finally be a great vacation and an opportunity to gather thoughts and plans for the undetermined lifestyle looming on our horizon. We needed to see if there were still purposes and plans for us, or should we be content to find a rocking chair somewhere on the back forty? The Lord was about to guide us toward an entirely different lifestyle that would extend over the next 25 years, a lifestyle of excitement and reliance on him. The words, “love, honor, and crew” were about to take on a clearer meaning.

As our plane taxied away from the gate that October morning, the sun was shining and noisy chatter filled the plane. At the head of the runway the engines roared, the plane gained momentum, the tarmac rushed beneath us. I waited for the exhilarating feeling of lift off; but a sharp cracking sound emitted from the engine beside my left shoulder. The engine sputtered, brakes squealed, the airplane lurched from side to side and then slowed. We limped back to the boarding ramp.

We watched from the window while a solitary mechanic, with a single screwdriver in his hand, climbed a ladder to the wing, opened the engine hatch, and peered inside. In a moment, apparently content with some unobservable accomplishment, he descended, removed the ladder, and retreated. The stewardess announced that the problem had been resolved and that they were going to "run her out to see." We could disembark or ride along if we chose. No offense is meant to those stalwart grease monkeys upon whom our lives depend, but one man with a screwdriver did not inflame my confidence. Roland and I disembarked.

Soon the plane returned. “All was well.” We boarded, settled in, and for the second time, taxied to the head of the runway. Again the engines roared. As we catapulted forward I kept an eye on the port engine. Doubtless, the pilot also had his eye on it. At the same moment that I heard a loud crack and saw smoke pouring out of the engine; I also heard the pilot say, "That frosts it." Again the plane shuddered and swayed to a screeching stop just short of the runway's end.

After two warnings, we wondered if we should continue on our trip. If anything, anything at all, were wrong at home, we would end the trip on the spot. We called home; everything was “fine, just fine.” As we stared across the runway, a light rain and an oily tarmac produced a lovely rainbow. "I will set my bow in the sky," said the Lord, as an assurance of His kept promises and His good intentions toward men. We were encouraged, but still hesitant.

When we returned to the airline desk, however, they announced that we were to be transferred to a later plane at a distant airport. This change of agenda would cause us to miss our connection with the once-a-day plane from Puerto Rico to Martinique. In a word, the next morning our ship would sail without us.

Because of our ship’s indefinite itinerary, we needed to find out where and when she would make her first landfall. We hoped to join our vessel there. It was late but we located the travel agent and she promised to call the cruise company. We would call her for further instructions when we arrived in Puerto Rico.

The bus took us to Kennedy International Airport where we boarded a DC10. DC10's weren't particularly popular that year, something about their tails falling off. In addition, our co-pilot was rumored to be lost in one of the parking lots of JFK (a real confidence builder). Rol and I stared out the window as yet another rainbow formed over the wing.

Following the Lord has never been without surprises and challenges. Contrary to the popular belief that Christians lead dull regimented lives, active following has proven to be a grand adventure. In the midst of His most surprising and sometimes scary adventures, I experience a dramatically illogical reaction; a quiet peace falls over me. My mind deals with the obvious difficulties; but there is an overshadowing of God's presence that brings calm and security. Abraham, who was promised a son at 90 years of age, examined his own body, "as good as dead", and the dead womb of his wife and did not lose faith. I suspect that he may have found his composure difficult to explain.

Eventually, the co-pilot arrived, the plane lifted smoothly into the air and turned south toward Puerto Rico. We breathed a large sigh of relief. The vacation had begun; the adventure continued.

In San Juan the next morning, we conferred with our travel agent. She was frustrated and confused; the cruise ship company flatly refused to cooperate. "They didn't know," they said, "the specific plans of the ship". The vessel had sailed from Martinique that morning with freedom to wander the Caribbean. They reminded our agent that our prepaid cabin was nonrefundable. In a word, they were not going to help us find their sailing ship, nor refund our tickets. The travel agent suggested that we go on to Guadeloupe. She would continue to seek out the secret of the ship's first landfall.

Now, all logic would say, “Quit now while you can.” After two joy-filled weddings, two college educations completed and two on the front burner, our money was extremely limited. The Caribbean is an enormous puddle within which to locate a missing sailing ship. To find it would, literally, be like finding a needle in a field of haystacks.

For reasons I can not explain, that strange peace settled further down around my shoulders. We cancelled our tickets to Martinique and bought tickets on a small island-hopping plane with twin engines. As we rose in the air above San Juan, a rainbow burst across the sky.

I love the islands of the Caribbean; the water is bright blue, the air so clear. We flew low through the wisps of cloud. I saw bright blue water with white wave crests, small cays, powder perfect beaches, and pea-sized boats. We hippity-hopped from Puerto Rico to Tortola, to St Martin, and to Guadeloupe.

It was early afternoon when we disembarked at Guadeloupe into an all but empty airport. My peace of mind vanished like a will-of-wisp. Wherever this was, I sensed that this was the wrong place. Guadeloupe is not small. The butterfly-shaped island has literally thousands of coves into which even a large ship can disappear. We needed more direction.

Roland spent a good hour trying to make a telephone call back home. The operator spoke only French. Rol's French hadn't been dusted off in a long time. Finally, he managed to reach our, still-frustrated, travel agent. She had been unsuccessful in her quest. The cruise company could not, or would not, divulge the whereabouts of the ship. We were on our own.

While Roland engaged in his phone frustrations, I wandered aimlessly around the airport. There, in the window of a local travel agency, was an advertisement for a trip to Iles De Saintes. The poster pictured a rainbow hovering above the small offshore islands. I was not out searching for signs from God; but there was that rainbow again there was that quickening inner feeling and rising confidence. Our human efforts had been thwarted. But, for no logical reason, it seemed right to both of us to buy tickets on the local plane from Guadalupe to Iles De Saintes.

Iles De Saintes is a small island off the southern coast of Guadeloupe. The airport, on Terre D'en Haut, is framed by two volcanic tips with bananas growing in between and has an airstrip approximately the same length of our hometown football field. There is a sign on a tool shed proclaiming this as the, "International Aeroport de Iles De Saintes". It was quite a contrast to JFK where we had launched this adventure.

The mini "aeroport", sans taxi stand, is quite a distance to the nearest lodging, especially when you measure up and down the volcanic peaks. But Jacque, one of our fellow passengers, owned a small Terra D'en Haut hotel. Jacque had gone to Guadeloupe for his supplies and generously offered us a ride in his Volkswagen bus and lodging.

Jacque's bus lacked side doors, an open-air VW bus in the truest sense. Clamping our suitcases between our knees, we clutched at whatever we could grab, as the little bus climbed, skidded, slid, and ground gears over what must be among the world's narrowest and most precipitous roads. Surprisingly, we arrived safely at Jacque's small hotel. The room was plain, but clean. We were glad to be there. I felt like we had reached the rim of the world.

Eventually, we showered and ventured forth. Terre D'en Haut is a quaint vacation spot. The narrow roads are shared by a few cars, many walkers, animals, and cafes. Here and there, beautiful tile designs are set right into the street surface. Bougainvillea blooms everywhere, the sea sparkles, and the sun shines.

As early evening fell over the Caribbean waters, the winds calmed, the sun became less intense, and the whole atmosphere took on a mellow overtone. We strolled up the street, ascended the hill, and paused to listen outside the Catholic Church as the congregation sang the French mass in unison. The peacefulness hovered lightly like a cloud protecting our minds.

On the way back to the hotel, I spotted a heavyset woman in a white sundress, sitting with her lean male companion in an outdoor restaurant. On impulse, I spoke to her in English. "I wonder if you could help me out; I need to locate a ship and I don't speak French." Once the lady got over the shock of my arrival, she listened to our problem. I naively asked her if there was a local maritime control agency where we might check on ships in the area. Her gentleman friend quickly got involved in the conversation through translation. "What you are looking for, Madam", he said, "is a small ship, on a very large sea." He was sympathetic, but not hopeful. "There is no maritime control." "How do you come to be on Iles De Saintes?" When I explained that we felt that God had led us there, his response was abrupt, loud, and sarcastic, "God?…Madam, There is no God." He threw his tanned face back and laughed out loud. The whole cafe listened; the gauntlet had been thrown; the challenge made. Impulsively, I snapped, "We will see who laughs last. God has sent us here to find our ship."

I did not sleep well that night. All the bravado of my response and the confidence of the day before disappeared as soon as my head hit the pillow. I padded up and down on the cool tiles in the dark room, while Roland snored away. What were we doing here?' Why did we nonchalantly make those decisions on planes and places? What about the folks who had overheard my challenge? Would those people be damaged in their relationship with God because of my naivete?' My night was full of doubt and self-criticism.

Morning came slowly. The sun rose out of the sea and the roosters crowed. I ventured out onto the small balcony and there, rising out of the mist over the western tip of the island, was another beautiful rainbow.

If I told you that my confidence returned, I would be lying. I was like a person on a fast train who wonders if the station whizzing past had been his; I was dubious, but committed to ride it out.

When Roland wakes up, everything seems better to me. Roland has been my husband for many happy years, my friend for many more. He doesn't get flustered. Not only that, but Rol is capable of making logical decisions under pressure. His presence alone calms me. Eventually he stirred, got hungry, and decided the obvious, "Let's get breakfast."

The small hotel had fed us tasty, fresh fish the night before; fish so fresh that they had been cleaned on dock right beside us. This morning there was a welcome breakfast of warm croissants and coffee; but I had no idea what we would do when breakfast was finished. I also had no idea what I was to do with my life when this trip was over. I pondered these things while Rol sipped his coffee.

In the middle of our meal the phone rang and the waiter-clerk announced that there was a call for Msgr. Santomenna. No one in the whole world could have known that we were on Terra D'en Haut; but the call was for us. It was the lady, who I had questioned the night before. She and her gentleman had gone to the beach for a swim. Our lost ship was swinging on an anchor off the beach.

We ran for our baggage, Jacque got the bus, and we took off over the mountain roads for the beach at Boisjole, on the west end of the island. Our lady friend waited there by the side of the road. She had not only found the ship, she was exerting a strong grip on the second officer’s arm. It turned out that the officers of the ship had resold our accommodations and didn’t want to be found.

I’ve often wondered what the affect of our adventure on Jacque and his patrons; I don't know what happened to the Lady, who quickly disappeared amid our "Thank you so much" and "Merci" "Merci". I have no idea if her gentleman friend ever got the point of God's challenge; he stayed away from our gathering.

For Roland and I there was a clear message that day. If God can find a small ship in the middle of a big ocean and put us together through a series of rainbows and a cast of characters unmatched by fiction, then He would guide us as our lives changed. There is no needle too small or haystack too remote or unimportant for his guiding hand.

That trip made another important point. The Lord's plans for our lives were not over when our nest emptied. Shortly after our return home, the Lord added another "child" to our family, an eighteen year old whose home had failed him. Instead of our lives shrinking as we slid past fifty, they grew and expanded. On our fortieth wedding anniversary, Rol took a video of me at the helm of our own 40 ft, 14 ton sailboat, Glory B, on our way home from a thousand mile jaunt down the Caribbean archipelago. Biblically, aging folks like us were just hitting their stride in their walk with God.

There's more to Inheritance than money

My Grandma, Charlotte Baldwin Eke, was born in in England in 1872, a few years after the American Civil War!

Grandma's desk stands in the corner of our living room. When I was small, Grandma kept crayons and paper in its lower cabinet for me to use while the adults talked. When she passed on, I asked for and received the desk as my inheritance. I hoped that it might contain some clues about her life, her thoughts, her hopes; but no records remained in the small upper drawers. Grandma’s life probably seemed so ordinary that she didn’t think it worth recording; but I would love to be able to take a peak into her everyday life.

My life seems pretty ordinary to me too...but, perhaps it would be interesting to someone who follows after. I was a child, teenager, college student, bride, mother, and grandmother during the 20th century. and I am still here, welcoming some changes, rejecting others.

According to Ancestry.com, Grandma was probably born in Aylsham, Norwich, Norfolk, England. I remember her as a slender woman, never topping 5 ft. tall. As a child, I called her “my little Grandmother”. (My other grandmother passed one before I was born.) Charlotte wore her long black hair pulled back, into a French knot. When she was young her hair was black; when I was young, her hair turned white. She lived to see the birth of seven great-grandchildren (Grandma passed away in at the age of 93.)

Grandma and Grandpa immigrated to the United States from England. They arrived so close to my father’s birth that Grandma was immediately taken from Ellis Island (an immigration center in New York harbor) to a New York City “lying-in hospital” where she gave birth to my father on April 18, 1893. The hospital was located where Sterns Department Store later stood. Dad joked that he was born in Stern’s “bargain basement.”

I grew up believing my grandfather’s name was George, like my father, but there was some fuzzy stuff there. When grandpa died, all his papers read “Daniel, known as George.” He and Mary H, entered the US legally in1893 but I never heard of Mary H. Dad’s sister, my Aunt Ella was the only sibling I knew.

I guess there are always a few stories that go around in families that are more urban legends than factual history. With everyone gone but me, I can’t tell which ones are true and which are not. It bothers me not to know the difference; but I’m going to share a few with you.

Grandma and Grandpa came to the United States “steerage.” Grandpa’s brothers left England first and went to Australia. Either Grandma and Grandpa weren’t free to make that choice or they had a poor knowledge of geography, maybe both. Think of this, I could have been an “Aussie;” although, my Mother wouldn’t have been in the same hemisphere, Come to think of it, I might not have been born at all. What slender threads weave our existence!

They started out in NYC's "Hell’s Kitchen," But, one day, the story goes, Grandpa saw a team of runaway horses pounding wildly down a New York street, dragging a fancy carriage. Granddpa "brought the horses down” and stood holding the reins of the sweating beasts when a liveried gentleman came running after them. This man was very grateful that my Granddad had captured the animals and offered to take him to “the Master” to see if he would provide a job for Granddad.

Apparenty this gentleman and his friends were in the process of building a golf course ..so Granddad started with a shovel in his hand, but ended up managing the Shelter Island golf course and, in later years, several others

My Dad went to high school in Rye, NY and sang in the boys’ choir of the local Episcopal Church. Years later I attended a wedding in that same church. When the guests were invited to come forward for communion, I realized that my father had probably knelt at that same rail. It was a marvelous thought...welding us together although he had gone home to the Lord many years before.

Dad’s first boyhood job was driving a horse and wagon delivering bakery goods. Cars hadn’t been invented when Charlotte was born, but they came along while she was still living. Granddad purchased an early “Model T” made by Henry Ford. He used to tell how he filled his car radiator with water from grandma’s kettle. One morning, he put the kettle down on the running board and forgot about it. He drove to town and back and when he got home the kettle was still there.

I don’t know how fast he drove; but my mother later complained that I was speeding if I drove over 25 mph. Last week I drove home from North Carolina at around 60 mph. Of course, the car I drive (a Mazda Protégé 5) is modern and the roads are much improved. Grandpa’s car probably cost around $300. Mine, an inexpensive model for 2002, cost $17,000. It could have been an automatic drive, but I prefer to drive a standard “five on the floor.” It burns gasoline for fuel and gets close to 40 miles to the gallon on long distance trips. Locally, it gets around 30 miles to the gallon..

As George grew up he became fascinated with a new and promising idea…. radio transmission. He continued this interest throughout his life and spent hours in the family attic, first tapping way with a wireless key and later speaking on a short-wave radio, using his call numbers, W2EU.

Grandma enjoyed one of the first crystal radios built by my dad. She also enjoyed early television and even flew on a commercial airplane to Florida.

George (after I became an adult we all called my dad “George“) was involved with the early development of ground-to-air communications. Seated in the cockpit of one of the first commercial airplanes, he noticed sparrows passing the plane, flying in the same direction and accurately predicted that mankind had just begun to develop air travel.

I remember (as a child) running around a big meadow in the Watchung Reservation, moving wires and changing their patterns as small Army airplanes flew over Dad’s experiments.

Years later George and I sat together and watched the TV coverage of the first moon walk. It was certainly a monumental moment in history. Not only did it accurately fill his prediction, but also spanned his life, from a horse-drawn bakery wagon and home-built crystal-set radios to outer space television.

I was in college when the first television sets appeared. My mother and I went down to watch one in a store window. Home sets had very small screens…about 12 inches across…and were very expensive. A few years after they began to be popular, my father was taken ill and confined to bed. I bought a black and white (that’s all there was) television with my summer’s earnings so that he would have something to watch while he lay in bed. Unfortunately, he was afraid to sleep in the room with the cathode ray tube, so the set was installed downstairs in the living room. I spent hours sitting on the stairs, relating what was happening on the TV screen in the room below. After a few weeks the doctor said that he could go down stairs once a day and join the fun.

I was married and had children before the invention of the first personal computers. My husband, Roland, helped install one of the first commercial computers; it took up an entire floor in the AT&T building in White Plains, NY. The portable computer that I’m using has more memory than that giant creation. I doubt that my grandmother even dreamed of such contraptions.

The differences between Grandma’s life-style and mine are amazing and continue to change. Cell phones, GPS’s, Satellites, power tools, jet airlines, submarines, Ipods, etc. Every day seems to bring a new invention.

Even our clothing has changed. I don’t think Grandma ever wore trousers; I live in slacks and “jeans” on a daily basis. Grandma always seemed to be wrapped in an over sized apron, making tea in the kitchen. Until the day he died, Grandpa put on a white shirt, jacket and tie every morning.

My father frequently brought his mother a rose, which she kept in a silver vase. As a child, I remember visiting my grandparents. At that time they managed a golf club near Nyack, NY. My grandmother served the gentlemen who sat in the club bar watching a ticker tape machine, which was connected with Wall Street. Instead of monetary tips, they gave her tips on stock investments. She didn’t have much money to invest; but when we heard that Grandma was buying, the whole family bought. When Grandma sold, the family sold.

Grandma and Grandpa arrived in the United States with the clothes on their backs and their heads full of dreams, hoping that this country would offer them opportunities and it did. They never became rich by monetary standards; but they raised their children with dignity, owned their own home, and were able to support themselves. They lived through the great depression; but I don’t think they ever thought of themselves as poor. They certainly weathered many changes and adapted to them without losing their values.

My grandparents did not enjoy education beyond the basic six (maybe less.) My father was the first high school graduate in the family. A self-taught engineer, his expertise in communications led him work first with Western Electric and later for AT&T. I am the family‘s first college graduate.

After Grandpa passed on, Grandma went to live with her daughter in Florida. My dad visited her regularly. Immediately following his last week long visit she called and asked him to return. He did and they had another few days together. She took a nap after he left, and never woke up.

My dad passed on eleven years later at seventy-seven. His sense of adventure encouraged me to embrace life.