[caption id=“attachment_1356” align=“aligncenter” width=“584” caption=“To A Pink Peony”][/caption] My Dad passed on thirteen years ago this week. He loved all the flowers in the garden but was particularly devoted to the peonies. On this anniversary of the heart, I’m sharing this poem he wrote in 1998 which was two years before his death. To A Pink Peony Unrivalled, the pink peony outshone the other colorful flowers in the garden. ...
[caption id=“attachment_1042” align=“aligncenter” width=“584” caption=“Happy Father’s Day”][/caption] Sherman made the terrible discovery that men make about their fathers sooner or later… that the man before him was not an aging father but a boy, a boy much like himself, a boy who grew up and had a child of his own and, as best he could, out of a sense of duty and, perhaps love, adopted a role called Being a Father so that his child would have something mythical and infinitely important: a Protector, who would keep a lid on all the chaotic and catastrophic possibilities of life. ~Tom Wolfe, The Bonfire of the Vanities ...