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| From sh_letters#18 |
well , this weeks offering is pretty thin gruel , as the saying
goes . can you feel the excitement building about our impending
return to the states ? i knew that you could ...by the way ,
i got the stones album for my b-day , never got the d. ross
one , and never wrote that story . and may i just say , i am
personally glad to see the end of that "from the tablet of the
great one" tripe .enjoy ...
on a more somber note , i'll let mr. t take it away...
"lest we forget...
Nov. 21 is the date we lost Margaret Allen in 1985, as was
the next day when we lost Vane Mickle Nov. 22. they passed
away just hours apart".
1 comment:
Wow, May 1, 1968. What along time ago. Even then it was getting to be you'd notice how things would change in a year or even 6 months. I was still in the 6th grade, Nartin Luther King had been shot and Robert Kennedy had little over a month to live, Nixon not yet predient. Charles Manon had not yet murdered Sharon Tate, we had not yet gone to California. Dan was still in diapers (just kidding). Beatles still together, Gunsmmoke, Monkees and others still on TV. Radio was still generally cometitive, no specialized subculture group fromatting except country music. And even that had crossover hits. Ed Sullivan still had a really big shoe (wonder if he ever found the other one?).
Leap forward to Novemeber 21, 1985 - no need to recall all the details, but tonight I went up north in 1985 to play a gig in the band I was in, in Evert MI (west of Clare on Hwy 10) during deer hunting season. Stopped in the hospital in Mt. Pleasant to see Grandma about maybe about 7:30 pm. She was on some kind of life support stuff (not sure what all) just laying there not really concious, but I asked the nurse how long she had, and they of course either weren't really sure or didn't want to quoted. That was the last time any relative actually saw her alive. So I had the unwilling and dubious honor being the last one to see her alive, and I don't know why I was chosen..was it fate? Or in the plan? All I know is I will never forget her as long as I live and have my mind. She meant more to me than I knew at the time. Sometimes I now draw strength from her memory, knowing where I came from and knowing I am a part of some kind of heritage you cannot buy or sell. And if Mr. Percy Bond, her first husband, had not died of the flu in 1918, none of us would be here - perhaps part of a grand plan, as it unfolds, still not quite sure what the plan is...
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