Late July is a favorite time. I can back it up a bit and say all of spring and summertime fit this category. Late July, however, has an unrushed quality that is especially alluring. It's simply a beautiful time of steadiness and fullness in nature. I like that.
Al and I have been out enjoying the fine warm days and things to do. The other day we were at a coffee shop near one of the city lakes. Within sight of us, across the park boulevard, was a ball field, backstop and bench.
"That's a great summer scene," I commented, pointing particularly to the bench. I'm always on the lookout for benches.
The plentiful placement of benches in any given location practically guarantees a welcoming spot. Benches invite. They graciously permit you to sit and rest and enjoy - and please take all the time you want, they seem to urge. My approval for any park goes up whenever a generous sprinkling of benches is part of its plan.
My husband surveyed the ball field. He had a doubtful expression. He was trying to ascertain what I was talking about. He's learned my idea of things can differ from his.
"It would be a summer scene if someone was playing baseball. It's empty" - added as if he thought I might have missed that key element. "If someone was actually playing ball, then you'd have a summer scene. The ball players are missing."
His lack of agreement was no surprise. He and I can sum up, in dissimilar terms, the reality we see.
"It's empty but it's still a summer scene." I held to my position. "The bench is just waiting for someone to come along and use it. The place being empty doesn't make it any less a summer scene."
We lingered long enough that we were able to watch a young man in long-sleeve dress shirt (from some nearby office no doubt) go into the coffee shop and come out again. He carried his purchase, a prepared sandwich, which obviously was his choice for lunch.
He crossed the road to the shady green space bordering the lake. "He's going to the bench to eat it," I guessed.
Al had an alternate destination for the young man. "He's going to eat the sandwich by the lake," he said.
The fellow did seem to have the lake in mind. He wasn't angling close enough to be making towards the bench. It was disappointing when I felt so certain the bench is where he would go. I gave Al his due - he appeared to have plotted the course correctly.
Perhaps the hungry office worker had a change of mind. All of a sudden he slowed, did a kind of half-turn and proceeded to the bench, seating himself squarely upon it in the midday sun.
The bench received the occupant as if patiently expecting him. The summer scene, in all details, made a pleasing impression as we got up to leave.
Ro Giencke - July 26, 2011
I looked up the meaning of antidote as a first step. Antidote is a word that's been going through my head lately.
Remedy is a word listed when I checked out antidote. It's not the first explanation but it's the one that suits my meaning best.
Remedy is a good word. When we're in a really tough place a remedy bails us out. A remedy can put us on the right track. It can get us well. It can resolve conflicts and problems. There's tremendous power in the simplicity of the word. It gives promise to any situation.
This striving, contentious world is in sore need of an antidote to its troubles. That's why the word has been hanging out with me. There has to be a remedy for what ails so many areas of our living. Something is needed to counterbalance the confusion of strange situations everywhere.
It's wishful thinking to imagine remedies are as easy to come upon as dandelions in the yard in the spring. In truth it's you and me who are the remedies.
It's our brains, our good will and our determination which we combine to address the different needs. Mutual effort and willingness to work together are essential to solve the messes, heal the hurting and make everything okay.
Remedies are so often tied with our opinions. They're part and parcel of the politics we embrace. How we see things is how we're apt to pitch our remedy upon the world. We regard our remedy as merchandisers do who sell women's pantyhose. One size fits all we can mistakenly believe. It's never that easy and not with pantyhose either.
To be remedy people we have to look around. We do what we can. We start with concern for children or housing or parks. Our accomplishments can seem so paltry stacked against all that requires to be done.
Maybe that's why those of us who still read newspapers find respite in the sports pages. The sports section is escape and reprieve and also inspiration and hope. The pressing issues are on the other side of the paper for the brief time we consume the sports news.
Hobbies, certain activities, friendships and travel are other means of putting distance from the daily grind or the harder things that weigh us down. They act as an antidote to all we take in. They counterbalance the prosaic or sterner edges of life. They soften or realign the reality that each of us deals with.
When a national budget compromise seems an impossibility, when heat index talk wilts you further, when your work project is red-flagged for lack of funding, or anything else that challenges your equanimity, if only in a slight degree, an antidote can be extremely helpful.
The remedy is whatever you make it be. You get to create your own satisfactory balance. You are free to smooth out and create anything away from the circumstances over which you have no control.
Making something in the kitchen is a no-fail remedy for me. Even if the recipe itself fails from time to time there's pleasure in the food preparation process. You make some order out of the ingredients you choose.You do something and present a result.
For me it's never anything fancy. That's why it probably works so well. The only stipulation is that it's relaxing and real. The easy recipe below fits the bill. It takes mere minutes and there's little clean-up. It's a great antidote to the present widespread summer heat.
No-Bake Brownies
In saucepan cook over low heat till mixture is smooth 2/3 cup evaporated milk and 1 -12 oz. package chocolate chips. Remove from heat and add 3 c. graham cracker crumbs and 1/2 cup chopped walnuts. Spread in greased 8 x 8" square pan. Refrigerate till firm. Cut into squares.
Ro Giencke - July 22, 2011
Sunday was blistering hot. Blistering as in what happens to the skin where the sunscreen doesn't reach. It was well into the 90s. We're starting to expect it of this summer once it has established its position as a latecomer.
That evening I happened to look out the window. A rabbit lay for all the world dead on the ground some distance from the house.
It was stretched out looking horribly lifeless. Its long skinny legs were stiffly pointed this way. It was facing the bushes as if hightailing it to shelter before it went down. "Heat," I fumed. "I bet the temperatures did it in. Poor thing."
"Or wait! Another idea occurred. "Could some neighborhood dog have chased it and wounded it and the bunny ran with its fatal injury to this very spot to expire? How very sad."
The furry body would have to be disposed of. It was too uncomfortably warm to think about doing the responsible thing immediately. The bunny had possibly been there awhile. It wasn't going to be going anywhere. In the cool of dusk, that barely imperceptible lightening of the heavy air by a degree or two, then possibly I was up to taking action. Not now.
I went on to other things but shortly chanced to revisit, with my eyes, the same spot. And then, oh my goodness.
The rabbit was all turned around. The head, unseen before, was switched to my side. This was clearly one breathing bunny I was seeing. You could practically see the nose twitch.
The bunny must have been been lying down as if in a deep rest or swoon. When it got up and moved I was able to take note of something not detected before. The spot it occupied was a bare patch (in our not quite perfect lawn). The warm soil, by now in shade, must have felt good to the bunny. It picked that spot because it was a soothing place to be.
Thinking it might be thirsty I brought out a bowl of water. The bunny bounded away at my approach. Later it returned to the shaded area. It nibbled at grass blades. It didn't seem to be aware of the nearby bowl or interested in the water it held.
Rabbits probably don't have the same water intake requirements as humans. On a scorcher of a day as this was, and out in the elements, I'd be plenty thankful for a free bowl of water. I could only offer what would have been appreciated for myself. That the bunny didn't need the water was a bonus. It was doing fine on its own.
I'm very happy the rabbit proved to be exceedingly alive. Pretty clearly it was creating its version of a siesta as it lay long and flat on the ground. I like to think it favors the bald spot in our lawn. It's a good place for the bunny to hang out. Quietly it communes with nature, of which it is a part.
Ro Giencke - July 13, 2011
It's July and this is my happy time. Warm weather is very agreeable to me. Everything is so open and free at this time of year (except our State of Minnesota, shut down for the ninth consecutive day amid a quagmire of politics and pettiness. But that's another story and not a tale to be told for this entry.)
It was a wonderful 4th of July. We were up north with family. Horseshoes, bocce and cribbage were played. The different arenas of action used fluid rules. Sufficient players were found by rounding up anyone willing at the moment to pitch a shoe or aim a ball.
There was time at the river for floating and swimming. We whiled away lazy afternoons in the yard. Among other things we watched was the seemingly last nesting turtle of the season. She lay her eggs surprisingly close to the house.
The July 4th noon spread was delicious. There's always something for everyone. As with every year there's some new dish or salad to comment on and inquire how it's made.
Desserts were a smaller category than previously. This was compensated for by fruits and fresh-picked berries. My sister-in-law's popular banana cake (the secret is banana in the frosting) became the birthday cake as we sang the birthday song to my niece. I hope her ears have repaired themselves following our valiant attempt at choral presentation.
The two black Labs - one old with its only ambition to snooze in the shade, the other young and alert with energy - were the faithful canines rounding out our numbers. At one point both dogs were at rest on either side of the porch steps. The scene said something about our time together. All found comfortable spots near one another to reside and relax.
A cow went over the dam and the recovery efforts brought out various official local units. A strategy was reviewed for removing the dead cow from the river. We didn't stay to watch the full recovery operation but did take in the scene of red fire truck and other equipped vehicles.
It looked like either the start or finish of a parade or emergency backup for a very scary accident before being given an explanation of what what was going on. A suiting-up scuba diver, part of the recovery squad, assessed the situation from the perspective of the job he was called to do. It might be just another day's work for him. Nevertheless, a cow in the river must be a somewhat unusual situation.
Thankfully (if not for the cow) it all turned out to be just another page in the story of the country summer.
Talking with a neighbor the next day she wryly referred to it as "hoopla at the dam." In reality there wasn't much hoopla to it. It was at best subdued drama. The early forenoon hour had few onlookers about. But the stench of the cow as it was grappled to the surface was forceful reminder of the potential treachery of water.
The neighbor, a year-round resident, was unaware of any farm immediately upstream reporting a cow missing. The hapless creature was likely in the water for some time. Perhaps it took a misstep in pastureland near the river, lost its footing and fell in. Almost by any theory it was a victim of heavy seasonal rains and rapid river currents.
Church on the July 4th weekend was full. The pastor talked about vacationers taking time to attend services when vacationing away from all the other set things in our lives. He talked of the need for Sunday rest - ditto the need for holiday rest.
We concluded with America the Beautiful. My gaze moved to outside views of pines and farmland as voices raised in song. The stirring stanzas fluttered our hearts as surely as the flag causes us to stand and salute it with pride. The song's "spacious skies" and "amber waves of grain," powerful words of natural grandeur, create as real a picture of America as anything.
My brother and I commented that the basswood must be a little late this year. The blossoming we come to expect at the start of July hadn't yet happened. Back home here the basswood trees are in bloom. The heady aroma comes in the opened windows. It's the smell of summer to me.
Ro Giencke - July 9, 2011
We spent the winter after our marriage in New Mexico. It was for work but it felt like adventure. Everything was new.We learned about Hatch chilies for one thing. It maybe sounds a small thing but it signifies that we were exposed to a whole different culture. The Southwest desert was compelling, colorful and infinitely interesting in every way to this couple with deep Midwest roots.We came back in the spring to a new location. Al's career moved him around and this was one of those times.There weren't many rental options in the small town. There were few apartments. Houses were out of the question. A young couple then didn't dream of owning a home right off.
"Better than nothing," we said, renting a trailer home to make do while the rental search continued.The first summer was a wild season with many tornado warnings. I was uneasy in the trailer. Tornado sirens sounded frequently. There wasn't a nearby shelter to head for.Rain made a heavy drumbeat on the trailer roof. It sounded eerily like hail. Even the gentlest of rains could sound ominous on that roof. We would think we had a gullywasher only to find it had been hardly more than showers.Fishing, boating and work friends saved us from a none too sterling start. A trailer court wasn't our idea of a first home. The locals we met weren't especially friendly. I missed the shopping and interests of bigger places.Early in the spring we used the lengthening daylight to fish from shore in the evening. Many came to try for pan fish at this popular spot where the river, which flowed through town, formed a lake.Al enjoyed getting in a few practice casts before the fish opener. The fish opener was always in May. It coincided with Mother's Day weekend. Until then it was illegal to catch the game fish - walleye, muskie, pike - for which Minnesota is known. Although I didn't fish from shore I enjoyed the mild sun, the river, keeping Al company and being with others also enjoying the start to spring. After the fish opener we had the boat in use all summer long. We were fortunate in living in lake country. There were several great area lakes from which to choose.One of the lakes we particularly liked had June roses growing on the gravel road to the boat ramp. The lake had a reedy shoreline. There was great serenity to the lake which made it different from some of the others, such as the lake closer to town that was our swimming beach.In this town, and the next places we lived, I came to know some very special elderly women. Meeting senior mentors was one of the rewards of our mobile career life.Being in a cramped trailer (it measured 10 x 55 feet), we spent as little time in it as possible. We couldn't always be fishing. Al missed a place to put in a garden.There was no Craigslist for launching a query about garden rental. I imagine we found our garden via a bulletin board at the local store or through some small printed sign noticed when driving by.This is how we were led to Isabelle. She had garden space for us on her property. She was in her seventies or eighties. She was a widow. She wore her white hair in a bun atop her head as her generation did then.She was born in Scotland. She came to this country as a war bride. I suppose it was the first world war although I didn't think to ask.We found we went to the same church, a nice bit of common ground when you trade information as you break the ice. From our experience of being new in town, feeling measured up by some of the locals, I wondered how she was received all those years ago when she came here so young and full of love.People in small towns know the same families over several generations. Someone new can be considered a calculated risk.When you know practically everyone you can't help but notice the faces you don't know. The unknowns are curiosities. It's part of the way of a small town to watch and puzzle newcomers out until they're a proven pattern or they show they can fit in.I wondered if Isabelle had difficulty in settling in. The handsome soldier in uniform - who did he become when he came home? Did she ever sigh inwardly at how romance can sweep you off your feet to put you in a totally foreign place where you then spend the rest of your life?Did the strangeness of life in America recede over time as she got busy in her church, raised her children and brought zucchini and garden mums to her neighbors? Or, after awhile, did the pride of being different take precedence over the desire to blend in and be conventional?The Bridges of Madison County hadn't yet come along to address or at least suggest answers to these questions. My experience was limited enough at the time to not think much about it. It did dawn that there must have been some bravery on Isabelle's part to make life work here. Certainly gardening was one of the tools she used to make it home. One thing Isabelle said registered with me. She said she hated to listen to the news. Whether on the radio or TV the news upset her. "The news is all so bad," she said. "I don't want to hear it anymore.""That’s the world, you have to take it as it is” I said to myself, thinking that here was a narrow view. "You can't close yourself off from the world" is what I almost told her.
There was a strong wish to counter her comment. Her sweeping indictment against the news sounded unfair to me. There's something to be said about paying attention to someone without blurting out your mind's words. If I said anything I picked the words a little more carefully.
These days, when the world appears to be in crisis with every new headline, I think of Isabelle.
I can imagine saying to her, if we were to stand again in the garden where I've come to pick our Swiss chard or carrots or tomatoes, “I’m with you, girl. I don’t like listening to the news either. It's gotten so bad.”Today at the store the newspaper grabbed on the way to the cash register was the first item rung up by the young cashier.He was friendly. He made some comment about the news I'd find inside the paper. Without giving much thought to it I found myself practically echoing Isabelle.
"There's no good news in there," I said. "We have to make our own good news because it's sure not going to be found in there." "The Twins won," he ventured. I laughed, inwardly pleased that here was someone who aimed to see the glass half full."And we have two Minnesotans running for president," he added, pressing his advantage on the good news theme."Of course, that can be good news or bad news depending on whether they're your candidates," he clarified, an example of Minnesota nice if ever there was one (sounding impartial may be dull but it can save a lot of ruffled feelings or worse).
"But they're Minnesotans," he emphasized, as if that was all the good news you needed in one day.It was a pleasure to hear this young man talk up the tenor of the news. Habit had let me speak with disenchantment of it. He had the young person's optimism to see it in a different light.The few remarks with the cashier left me trying to recall that visit with Isabelle, the visit of the "bad news."I trust I did for her what this pleasant cashier did for me. He bolstered my attitude and readjusted my day.As she lamented the state of the world I can only hope I came with a response as helpful and pleasant as his. There was a need for comfort, I believe this now, in the view she shared with me.Ro Giencke - June 14, 2011
It's nice to be back to summer things. Summer is when I best like to read. I like to read outside. This year again a stack of books and magazines has been gathered for just such reading leisure.Tuesday's 103 degrees, which made us the hot spot of the nation, and beat Death Valley that day by six degrees, wasn't a good time to be out reading. Same could be said of today, some forty degrees cooler and considerably windy.Yesterday was busy with the errands that can fill a day. I got outside finally last night to weed around the mailbox.The mild air and low sun were pleasant. You think of all the time in the winter you're inside because of the cold or the darkness by suppertime.It's joy to be outside, even on hands and knees, as you reach to pull quack grass that threatens to overrun your hostas.The white lilacs are fragrant as they grow haphazardly in the shade. Insufficient sunlight may be the reason for their small blooms. Or perhaps they're a species content to stay more petite. They put their effort into lavishing us with intense scent.I picked a bouquet of these white lilacs for our table. I brought in some irises too. Irises were picked from the garden for my brother's wedding many years ago.I brought the irises into the house tonight forgetting (at the time) that it was their anniversary. Irises to me will always be their flower. What we choose as background and setting for the I Dos we say indeed do become lasting symbols of our vows to committed love.It was a late season for lilacs. Even with the slow start they're almost done blooming. Or enough so to say the lilac show is over. Some hang on as if wanting to see what comes after. It's the peonies with their claim to early June.Their flamboyant colors collect fans as devoted as those to roses. Visit the peony walk at the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum when the peonies are in bloom and you understand the draw.My new favorite flower at the Arboretum are the coral bells. They're very pretty. I like their tall spiky cheerful note of color. Where they edge the pathways they were what I noticed first.Azaleas in corals and pinks are bright patches in the Arboretum woods. The late-summer flowers, replacing the tulips in their yellow, red and orange color arrangements, were being put in while we were there.It was beautiful in the Arboretum as always. It's been interesting to follow the progression of growth and change from early this spring.All things have their time and season. This must have been a thought worked out in some garden. The truth in this gives each of us chances to pause in the moment and enjoy as we take it all in.Every trip to the Arboretum I learn some new plant, or what I've come to know is reinforced. It's a good feeling to know you can learn in small ways.Minnehaha Falls in south Minneapolis was as tumultuous this weekend as we've ever seen it. The fellow next to us, learning over the balustrade as we were, to better see the spectacle of the falls, mentioned that his parents met in Minnehaha Park in the 1920s.He pointed to the grassy upstream bank of Minnehaha Creek. That's where they met he said. His dad was a soldier. His mom had been told by her parents not to speak to soldiers. Maybe she didn't speak to him. Maybe she only smiled. But the rest of the story speaks for itself. I enjoyed hearing about this.Every couple has special stories that go on.Ro Giencke - June 9, 2011
It was through friends that we learned about Kathryn, North Dakota. Once visited we were ready to see it again.
The first trip was made on the strength of photos this active couple showed us of the little white Lutheran Church and the beautiful surrounding bluffs of the Sheyenne River Valley. The twisting roads through a quiet and timeless land of hills and vistas make this scenic stretch a real getaway.
We spent the next day in Fargo. We intended to do some sightseeing. The sunshine which made the drive along the Sheyenne River the day before so pleasant was gone. Rain started the day and it never let up or not by much.
Between rain and wind it wasn't going to suited for outside activities. We needed to pick our choices carefully. The more time inside at our places of interest the better.
Don't ever underestimate word of mouth to make something known. As with Kathryn, the visit to the Hjemkomst Center was a direct result of another recommendation. A friend had been there, enjoyed it and happened to mention it as we visited.
The Hjemkomst Center is on the Moorhead side of the Red River. That puts it in Minnesota. In this flat agricultural valley of the Red River, prone to flooding, recent springs have been tense. Residents on both sides of the swollen Red swing into action preparing millions of sandbags to save their towns in what has become their annual rite of spring.
They were spared this year because weeks of chilly temperatures allowed snowpack to melt gradually. During the time we spent in this metropolitan area along the Red we thought about what it takes to live where you're up against nature year after year.
As we drove the leafy residential streets of Fargo, admiring blocks of venerable architecture, we sometimes caught glimpses of two white peaks cresting the treetops on the northeast horizon. The white double peaks stood out in luminous comparison to the drab grayness of the day.
More than once, as they came into view, they reminded me of the outline of the Brooklyn Bridge. Did they build a bridge here that duplicates the Brooklyn Bridge I asked myself, even as I knew I was seeing the waterproof canvas that protects the full-scale Viking ship we were headed to see.
The Hjemkomst, which is its name, has become a Moorhead drawing card.
The high tent-like cover indeed gives a sense of a bridge floating high above the city or even the mast of a ship sailing the prairie. The imagery to the landscape that his ship gives would have tickled Robert Asp.
Robert Asp was the man who built the Viking replica ship the Hjemkomst. He was the one with a dream. A Moorhead teacher and guidance counselor, he came up with the idea forty years ago to construct by hand the ship of his Norse forefathers.
From its beginnings the Hjemkomst was a labor of love. Oak trees from along the Red River were carefully selected. An old potato warehouse in nearby Hawley was found as a place to put the ship together. The warehouse became known as the Hawley shipyards.
The local potato and sugar beet farmers, many of them descendants of Norwegian immigrants as was Robert Asp , as well as many other supporters in the Fargo-Moorhead area, took pride and interest in the work underway.
In that sea of grass, and those chessboard-flat fields of the Red River Valley, it wasn't difficult to believe that a ship could rise from Robert Asp's dreams and sail away.
Robert Asp was diagnosed with leukemia at the onset of construction. it didn't deter his dreams or distract from progress on the construction of the ship. His family and friends entered the dream with him.
It was christened the Hjemkomst, which means Homecoming, upon completion. Now it was ready for its sea test.
TV coverage recorded the momentous journey as the Hjemkomst was transported to Duluth. The ship was launched in Duluth harbor. It was an exhilerating maiden voyage on Lake Superior for Asp and his crew. For the ailing Asp, the honorary captain, it was his shining hour.
The builder of the Hjemkomst died four months later. He had worked nine years on the project. To fulfill his dream to sail it to Norway the project took on an even more earnest tone. Family, friends and the community rallied to fulfill his dream.
New vision and the help of experienced Norwegian sailors steered the way. Eric Rudstrom, one of two Norwegians added to the crew, was named skipper. In May 1982 the Hjemkomst crew felt sufficiently trained to make the Atlantic sailing to Norway. It was time to let the Hjemkomst return to the land of Asp's heritage.
The ship left Duluth in May 1982. There was a 28-day voyage across the Great Lakes. Cheering crowds and welcoming dignitaries met the ship at stops at Detroit and Rochester, New York. At Albany, New York, the Hjemkomst sailed down the Hudson River to New York City.
There was no turning back now (except for one crew member who, realizing the dangers in the Atlantic undertaking, chose to leave after they arrived in New York).
Three days out to sea a terrific storm had the crew scrambling. The ship, sturdily built as it was, was pitched heavily about by gales and waves. The crew had another thirty days at sea before the ship came into Bergen harbor, arriving on a Saturday in the middle of July.
The smell of land greeting them, while still not within sight of land, raised their spirits tremendously. They had done it. They had sailed the Hjemkomst across the Atlantic back to Norway.
At the Hjemkomst Center we joined the tour group a minute or two late. We were, as my dad would say, the cow's tail to the little bunch being shepherded around by a volunteer. He was taking the group to the replica Norwegian stave church, also part of the Hjemkomst Center, when we caught up with them.
The stave church, built in the late 1990s, is a replica of a basilica church from southern Norway from the 1100s (by which time the Catholic religion prevailed in the land of the Vikings). The smell of the wood and the sturdy construction makes you think of the endurance of things - of faith for one thing, but of all the things in life we put our hopes in, and our hands to, as important to us.
At the end of the tour Al and I went back to see the short video on the Hjemkomst which is shown. Late for the tour we had missed the earlier film showing. But first we simply walked around the ship, as did others. We gazed high into the mast with the tent above it between ship and open sky.
You can't help but be in awe of the spirit of the Vikings and the spirit of the man, Robert Asp, who had a dream.
One of the volunteers pointed out the dragon head which was a feature of Viking ships. The sea monster, or dragon head, at the front of the ship (there's a nautical term for the front and I think it's prow) literally put the fear of the Lord into the populaces that the Vikings raided when their ships sailed their coasts.
"A little boy, here on a field trip, asked why the dragon's ear is missing," the volunteer said. My eye went to the missing ear. I hadn't noticed its absence before she called attention to it.
The young, with their alert curiosity, don't miss a trick. The schoolboy, pointing out the missing ear, made this volunteer realize it could be part of the education on the Hjemkomst. "The ear came off in the storm," she explained. "You'll see the storm in the movie."
As we filed into the theater room, and the movie was about to begin, she told us, "I've seen this five times and I still don't see it with dry eyes."
I could see what she means. You get misty-eyed. A dream achieved inevitably brings tears of happiness. Incredibly sad moments bring tears too. This little film has footage to cover both the high and low points but it's the high points, like the ship's high canvas tent seen over the treetops, that remain as the central message of the video.
Robert Asp was a man with a dream. He was fortunate enough to have ones who loved him who stepped into his dream to make it his. And theirs as well.
Ro Giencke - June 4, 2011
