Loved Ones

Alia, Mikayla, Annika and Zac at my Dad and Margaret's house after a refreshing dip in their pool!



Me and the kids on Ma'am and Mr. B's front porch (one of the houses where I grew up)



Many of the family gathered after the BBQ at Ma'am and Mr. B's house



Grandma and Grandpa Boerding (Kel's parents)



Matthew (Jeff and Lea's son)



My brother John and sister-in-law Sheila, my niece Emma, and nephew Jack



My niece Annika (Stacy and Scott's daughter)



My nephew Jack



Alia and Emma



My niece Mikayla (Stacy and Scott's daughter)



My Mom's mother Grandma Faulstich with her grandchildren (me and John) and great-grandchildren (Alia, Zac, Emma and Jack)



Kelly and her beloved Ron



Great-Grandma Guenther and Ga-Ga with the grandchildren



Me and my Ma'am (the woman who nurtured and loved me after my own Mother passed away, as well as many years before that!)



Great-Grandma with Poppy (my Dad), Zac, and Alia



The kids together


Stacy and her husband Scott



Great-Grandma Guenther and Baby Alice (Margaret's daughter Lyle and son-in-law Bill's baby)




We had a really wonderful trip back to St. Louis in August. We tried to make it back to visit Grandpa Guenther before he passed away, but alas, it wasn't meant to be. We did get to spend time with the Grandmothers and many other members of our extended family. Alia, Zac and I were spoiled by everyone. Stacy and Scott put up with us as we took over their house with our suitcases, Red Hot Riplets, Imo's Pizza, White Castles etc.

Though we live many, many miles away, and it had been 4 years since we'd seen everyone, it was like it was yesterday. We love you! We miss you!

A Poem Written By My Grandfather

Beginnings


The past is gone, the future hasn't come,
the present slips away: do we depend
on nothing? Nothing answers, for it is dumb
and nothing has no beginning and no end.
For the time has come when the suffering of the root
becomes the root of suffering and the tree
of wisdom, bare of its customary fruit,
loses its image of abundancy.

And the time has come when the reason for desire
is tempered and the desire for reason
explodes from ashes into continuous fire
of light and heat against the severe season,
and in the meditation of the flame,
beyond the one sensation that it warms,
we perceive the function of its dancing game
and recognize the clarity of its forms;

until the time has come when the change of light
yields to the light of change, music of space
played in the half dark of an elusive night
of alternate despair and silent grace,
seeming to drown the time when the rest of being
ends and being at rest suddenly draws near,
when the sight of birds vanishes and the bird of seeing
flies away somewhere else, away from here.

From: Moving the Seasons by Charles Guenther