I Don't Use Any Fance Quill Pens

We're Tuesday People.

I Also Believe That Parents, If They Love You, Will Hold You Up Safely, Above Their Swirling Waters, And Sometimes That Means You'll Never Know What They Endured, And You May Treat Them Unkindly, In A Way You Otherwise Wouldn't.

There Is No Formula To Relationships. They Have To Be Negotiated In Loving Ways, With Room For Both Parties, What They Want And What They Need, What They Can Do And What Their Life Is Like.

Take One Story, Viewed From Two Different Angles. It Is The Same Day, The Same Moment, But One Angle Ends Happily... And The Other Ends Badly.

You'll Come To My Grave? To Tell Me Your Problems?" My Problems? "yes.' And You'll Give Me Answers? "i'll Give You What I Can. Don't I Always?" I Picture His Grave, On The Hill, Overlooking The Pond, Some Little Nine Foot Piece Of Earth Where They Will Place Him, Cover Him With Dirt, Put A Stone On Top. Maybe In A Few Weeks? Maybe In A Few Days? I See Myself Sitting There Alone, Arms Across My Knees, Staring Into Space. It Won't Be The Same, I Say, Not Being Able To Hear You Talk. "ah, Talk . . . " He Closes His Eyes And Smiles. "tell You What. After I'm Dead, You Talk. And I'll Listen.