Saturday, January 05, 2008

Sifting

Summer days, a thoughtful gaze.
Warm sun flowing down around us.

Sifting sand through our fingers,
Sifting dreams and memories linger.

Cool of the water, curl of the wave,
Fixes our minds on that day
When He made this beautiful place.

Scott L. Vanatter, 29 May 1975 (Poem written for Becky on my mission)

Wednesday, January 02, 2008

"Second Nature to Me Now; Like Breathing Out and Breathing In . . . "

I've grown accustomed to her face.
She almost makes the day begin.

I've grown accustomed to the tune that
She whistles night and noon.
Her smiles, her frowns,
Her ups, her downs
Are second nature to me now;
Like breathing out and breathing in.
I was serenely independent and content before we met;
Surely I could always be that way again -
And yet
I've grown accustomed to her look;
Accustomed to her voice;
Accustomed to her face.
. . .
But I'm so used to hear her say
"Good morning" ev'ry day.
Her joys, her woes,
Her highs, her lows,
Are second nature to me now;
Like breathing out and breathing in.
I'm very grateful she's a woman And so easy to forget;
Rather like a habit One can always break -
And yet,
I've grown accustomed to the trace
Of something in the air;
Accustomed to her face.

(From, of course, My Fair Lady)

Sunday, December 30, 2007

"Me and You, and You and Me . . . "

Christmas 1967. Becky is all elbows and sharp angles. I have hair. (We were 13 years old. I was about to turn 14.)

Duarte High dance, 1969. (We were 15 years old.)

Christmas Eve, 1971. (We were 17 years old.)

December 1973, just before my mission. (We were 19 years old.)


December 1975, just after my mission. (We were 21 years old.)