I just got on here in the wee hours of the morning because for some reason my mind is going too fast and I realized I never added you! so I'd missed seeing these lovely photos! We forgot our camera, but did take pictures with the cell phone (which I can not download because don't have some cable thing). And then really if we did, I wouldn't know how to use it. But we saw bears! real bears! mamas and baby cubs and the mama woofed at us. And lots of deer. Now as an English prof. that last bit of writing should seem just a tad run-on. :)
Our average age is 50. We've been married 25. For a number of reasons, this Robert Burns poem keeps coming to mind:
John Anderson my jo, John,
When we were first acquent,
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonnie brow was brent;
But now your brow is beld, John,
Your locks are like the snaw;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson my jo.
John Anderson my jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither,
And mony a canty day, John,
We've had wi' ane anither:
Now we maun totter down, John,
And hand in hand we'll go
And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson my jo.
Put up the poem that says (basically) "her cheeks aren't pink and her features aren't lovely but she's still nice" or something. It's funny. (But OF COURSE it doesn't apply to Mom.) Happy Anniversary!
Oh Mark, You are amazing. I have always thought you were the greatest, but now that you have surprized our dear Melanie with this lovely trip, I now know that you are "the total package" when it comes to being a husband.
Dr. Bingham, if you read this on June 6, you might take a look at www.google.com. Type in the address and look at the presentation of the word "google."
Ah, food for the soul, and with a wee bit o' the Irish flavor in't.
Benjamin spotted this on Highway 92 in Mango, just up the road from us. He recognized immediately how aptly it would serve to illustrate one of my hymns.
Hello, Mr. Bingham. You may not remember me, but I was at FC 75-77. My maiden name was Hartsell. Welcome to Pleo; be careful, you might get Pleoitis! ;-)
God calleth preaching folly. Do not grudge
To pick out treasures from an earthen pot.
The worst speak something good: if all want sense,
God takes a text, and preacheth patience.
--from George Herbert's "The Church-Porch"
hello one of my favorite "punsters" - I know you are hers. Nah I don't think we will, finding those mistakes will make him chuckle as he uncovers them. Maybe.
