Of the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, our friend (and best man) Art says there are, “Absolutely no words.” I think he’s right, but I am going to sprinkle a few among the photos.
Our friend Paula DeLancey–gone unto another plane these 30 years and more–said we were “lucky ducks” and so we were to live together there on the rim.
When I am at the rim, I think quite a bit about William Butler Yeats. Hard not to with the bee-loud glades in the sunny meadows among the ponderosas and aspens. Right now, I am thinking of “Easter, 1916” where Yeats lists those he won’t forget. Along with Art and Paula (above) and Sally (below) I don’t forget: Chef Floyd and Bertha of the pantry, Leah and Karen–the sisters, Bill of the Mozart horn concertos and Kentucky bourbon, Anita and Becky–cousins and my roommates, Terri–so earnest (one of my favorite character traits), Keith and Pat–hippies among the Mormons, Sue–courted in moonlight by a wrangler on horseback, Richard of the trail and pantry, Jim–sweet baker, Howard–dear friend, and all the rest. Thank you.
This photo is for Sally, mule girl, friend, and maid of honor:
Yes, I said maid of honor. In three days, Tom and I will have been married 40 years. In that time, we’ve shared many lunches.
Lucky ducks, indeed.