Mournday
Dearest,
Spoke with Robin tonight. Still fighting this nasty cold. I am not fighting with your sister but I sent her an e-mail asking why Phil's memorial stone was not in place and why I received a warning letter from the cemetery about Phil having an unmarked grave. She responded in a manner that I can only characterize as crazy. Robin agrees with that assessment but, wanting to give her the benefit of the doubt, is going to call her. I will try another e-mail being as clear as I can possibly be. Jeez, this is like dealing with a child.
Your stone was another item of discussion. Much ado about the text to be inscribed. People better make up their minds soon, Bruce moves right along and once it's done it's carved in stone, literally. All should be complete by the end of the month.
Was going through your drawer full of PJs and found my longjohns. Hey! when did you swipe them? Warm weren't they? I would have bought you your own, nobody would have had to know. Unfashionable? Abby? No, those are mine. Miss you so much.
All this talk about stones lately has led me to thinking. What was that nice jewish boy talking about anyway?
Stones would play inside her head And where she slept, They made her bed And she would ache For love and get but stones Lordy, child A good day's comin' And I'll be there to let the sun in And bein' lost Is worth the comin' home You and me, a time for planting You and me, a harvest granting The every prayer ever prayed For just two wild flowers that grow
On Stones.
Robin doesn't like to think about you all alone out there in the cold and snow surrounded by strangers. I prefer to think that you're not there. You're all the winds that blow, you're the sparkle on the snow, you're the gentle rains in spring. You're with Phil and arguing as if nothing changed. You left me here to deal with these irascible people all alone. Hey, I could be annoyed with you.
Till we meet again, Your Ken
Spoke with Robin tonight. Still fighting this nasty cold. I am not fighting with your sister but I sent her an e-mail asking why Phil's memorial stone was not in place and why I received a warning letter from the cemetery about Phil having an unmarked grave. She responded in a manner that I can only characterize as crazy. Robin agrees with that assessment but, wanting to give her the benefit of the doubt, is going to call her. I will try another e-mail being as clear as I can possibly be. Jeez, this is like dealing with a child.
Your stone was another item of discussion. Much ado about the text to be inscribed. People better make up their minds soon, Bruce moves right along and once it's done it's carved in stone, literally. All should be complete by the end of the month.
Was going through your drawer full of PJs and found my longjohns. Hey! when did you swipe them? Warm weren't they? I would have bought you your own, nobody would have had to know. Unfashionable? Abby? No, those are mine. Miss you so much.
All this talk about stones lately has led me to thinking. What was that nice jewish boy talking about anyway?
Stones would play inside her head And where she slept, They made her bed And she would ache For love and get but stones Lordy, child A good day's comin' And I'll be there to let the sun in And bein' lost Is worth the comin' home You and me, a time for planting You and me, a harvest granting The every prayer ever prayed For just two wild flowers that grow
On Stones.
Robin doesn't like to think about you all alone out there in the cold and snow surrounded by strangers. I prefer to think that you're not there. You're all the winds that blow, you're the sparkle on the snow, you're the gentle rains in spring. You're with Phil and arguing as if nothing changed. You left me here to deal with these irascible people all alone. Hey, I could be annoyed with you.
Till we meet again, Your Ken
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