Roses. The queen of flowering plants in this part of the world, at least by my estimation. We moved around so much when I was a child, that I have no memory of, nor interest in them then.
In the piano bench, among sheets of music and other memorabilia, is an old family picture of Siss and Bish (Pearl and L.L., or Nana and Granddad), where Tom is a babe in arms, and others of their grandchildren are also small. It’s a precious thing, being as how they are both off finding the rewards of their labors, or whatever awaits in the great beyond.
I’m probably not through with last week’s subject: dictionaries, old and not so new. Maybe I should get hold of a really new one for comparison. The thought had been rolling around in my head, but with no real direction, so I wasn’t going to write this week, until the staff here at the T-I gave me a little shove.
Dictionary. A noun. Derived from late latin, according to one that has been around the Times-Independent offices since 1919. We were located around the corner next to the bank way back then, The bank, institutionally as we know it now didn’t exist way back then. But Sam’s father, L.L. “Bish” who got involved in newspapering here in 1911, sure did.
I’ve been going about my business with a beautiful black eye and some other bumps and bruises the last little bit. I have had my share of such over the years. Must have had them as a kid, but don’t remember anything very serious. With five children in the Foote family, four of them girls, we didn’t get into physical squabbles. And if any disagreement looked like it might elevate to something besides words, Mother stepped in immediately.
I loved watching the Golden Spike ceremonies on television last week. Took me back more years than I would normally want to admit. When I was a child, the big deal was the Days of ’47 (which had nothing to do with the railroads).
Music is a glue that holds all kinds of things together, from couples and families to nations, and beyond. I come from a musical family: Mother played the cello and the piano, learning piano first. Daddy played the piano and organ. During a period when I was still a young child, Mother had a job in the evening hours, so our father was left to both entertain and be entertained by us five children.
Now that Easter, and Jeep Safari week, have come and gone, it’s time to get down to the business of Spring in our little green valley. While perusing plants last week, I came upon one lonely strawberry plant. It soon became obvious why it was left by its lonesome in the flat: roots entwined (aka Sweet William’s rose and Barbara‘s thorny briar), it was growing with a healthy weed.
Daughter Sena and I, and her husband John Hauer, and her daughter Taylor Flanders attended the Utah Press Association’s annual awards banquet at the University of Utah’s stadium last weekend. Son, Zane, had attended the annual business meeting and election of officers and board the day prior, and, shmoozing not being his thing, had returned to Moab.
Aahhh, Spring in Moab. I’ve had the pleasure of enjoying it since 1956 (gosh, over 60 years, or more than an expected human lifetime not that many years back). My forsythia is in full golden bloom just outside the back door, and both the apricot and peach trees are blossoming. Heaven.
Well, here I sit in front of an office computer after six months or more of using only my iPad at home. It appears I have forgotten the world of stuff I used to know about operating a computer. Sad. But I’m giving it a go, in the expectation that my fingers doing the walking will remember more than my brain. Ah! These “golden” years.