Last week I lost a dear and faithful fan who died unexpectedly.

I had never met her in person, but someone had given her my phone number and she called me regularly whenever she read a new book; sometimes several times during the reading to comment on a particular portion or occurence that she felt was special. Her gift to me was that she could always see and appreciate the values and principles that I try to put into each of the books I write, though hopefully in a non ‘preachy’ way. 

She never took more than two or three minutes, but always gave me a boost. I came to look forward to her calls.  

She will be missed in the here and now, but I hope to see her someday.

My  oldest daughter, Emily, is one of those persons who live for family and friends. She is brilliant and accomplished in so many ways it is hard for her to settle on any one thing. For example she spent a long time working with the Habitat For Humanity before the genealogy bug bit her.

She very quickly mastered the intricacies of locating and recording information about her ancestors. My progenitors are from England and Switzerland, while Elliott’s are from England, Wales, and Ireland, with a little German thrown in.

Emily is determined to solve the mystery of Elliott’s grandfather who came to this country and married his grandmother while using a false name. His family was quite wealthy and he was not running from the law, so why the name change?

In her quest, Emily and been in touch with all sorts of cousins and relatives including one who is the archivist for the Queen of England’s art collection at Windsor Castle.

Yesterday morning, she called us from the City of Stockport, England, a present day suburb of Manchester. It was 4:00 pm (9:00 am our time)  when she called. She was sitting on the unearthed gravestone of her great, great, great, grandfather.

She had arrived in Stockport, and was waiting for public transportation to take her to the cemetery where she knew this person was buried. She had a sudden feeling that she should not wait for the bus, so she walked the mile and a half to the cemetery. A sign indicated that the workers there were off at 3:00 pm. Terribly disappointed that she had missed someone who might help her, she tried looking around, but had no idea where to look. 

Just then the groundskeeper, named Gary, appeared, and explained that he and his supervisor, Patrick, had been delayed in getting away at the usual time. When she told him who she was looking for, Gary knew exactly where the grave was. He and Patrick had to dig down four inches around the headstone, then lift the whole thing over, exposing the stone.

She could see the imprint of the carved letters in reverse on the underside of the mat of earth. The stone was unusually large and deeply carved, and carried the names of Richard Roberts, who died in l852 at age 53, and his wife Elizabeth Edwards Roberts who died at age 76.

She was so excited and emotional that she gave both Patrick and Gary a big hug. They returned the hug and expressed their happiness for her.

Was it just coincidence that these two men were still there?

More in a future blog.

In a season where it is hard to avoid the noise, animosity and confusion, I find it comforting to reread the thoughts of some who have gone before us. We need a sound perspective from which to view the “tumult” as so eloquently expressed in Rudyard Kipling’s “Recessional.” This poem was composed to honor Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee in 1897. In it, in addition to celebrating the event, he sounds a warning against an unsound imperialism.

Today I find myself concerned about the steady erosion of our individual liberties and the steady accretion of power by the federal government.

Here is one verse from Kipling’s poem.

The tumult and the shouting dies. The captains and the kings depart. Still stands Thine ancient Sacrifice, an humble and a contrite heart. Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, lest we forget, lest we forget!

A good reminder for us. Read the whole thing to apprediate its relevence today.

More from our granddaughter in Australia.

She found the celebration during Christmas be be on a lighter note than we affect here. The people dress up in costumes (i.e. Halloween) and gather in the big Sydney Park (their version of Central Park in N.Y.) to attend a big parade. The lucky ones arrive early, mark their spot and wait under an umbrella. They bring their towels and sunscreen to mitigate the heat and sun.

Leah has fallen in love with the city of Sydney, fascinated by the architecture, an eclectic mix that ranges from beautiful old sandstone buildings to neighborhood shops in art deco buildings, others in a style reminiscent of buildings in Paris and California. There are also many very modern buildings.

The weather in Sydney, at least in the summer (our winter) changes very quickly. It can start out chilly, then get very hot, then rain, then get sunny and hot and then cold again. So, she explains, they always pack a sweater or jacket.

She has fallen in love with many of the other aspects of life down under, with one big exception; they have a huge cockroach population. She probably doesn’t remember her days in Texas. Anyway, she woke up one night to see a huge roach run past her nose and over the pillow. Her scream awakened her husband, Jon, who promised to save her if it happened again. She also mentioned she ran into a rat in the subway. This part of her Australia adventure (she says) actually made me nostalgic for New York.    

More in another blog.

For sometime my granddaughter, Leah, has been living with her husband, Jon, in New York City. They have no children, and like so many New Yorkers lavish a lot of attention on their two pets, Pug, a male dog, and Jay, a female cat.

During their stay in New York they lived in several apartments and encountered little trouble in being allowed to have their pets. The story, however, was much different in the land of ‘down under.’ After putting out exorbitant sums of money to relocate their pets, they were dismayed to find our ‘Aussie’ friends (or at least the landlords) didn’t rent to anyone with pets.

For a pet lover this is a problem of paramount importance. It took days of visiting apartments in and around Sydney before they could find anyone who would take them, as well as Pug and Jay.

With that major inconvenience out of the way, they have found a great many things they love about their new home. In another blog I’ll relate some of these as well as  more of the differences they found between NYC and Sydney. I hope you’ll be as interested as I was.