Pop was a romantic. He wrote often in his diaries and in notes of his many adventures, love of travel and love for my grandmother. I was fortunate to grow up living next door to them, and I was able to witness a loving, respectful married relationship that spanned over 50 years.
I’ve amassed many writings, knick-knacks and photos from their life story. While reading through a pile of cards and clippings, I came upon this poem my grandfather typed out on his Royal typewriter. (Who doesn’t love his editing marks on the typed page, as pictured above?)
OUR WONDERFUL TIMES TOGETHER
We drive together,
Mary with maps and I at the wheel
Winding miles on the odometer,
We pull toward the coastal routes
And mountain passes
Gathering panoramas up from the shores
And yet leaving them as they were.
Still they lighten (and we with them)
As we go,
No need for packing
With our home on wheels on behind
With our buoyancy to move on past the canyons,
And cliffs before us;
Wherever we are at sunset is our home.
This is mine and Mary’s love of life.
Simple and beautiful. I can see his contented smile as he casts his eyes on the horizon.
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