Creation

At Camp Canonicus with my mother

The earliest memories I have of my mother are her singing to me before bed. There are a number of songs that she sang--hymns mostly--but one was almost always in the mix, and it shaped me:

YARD WORK - AS VIEWED FROM HEAVEN*
(overheard in a conversation between God and St. Francis):

Grandma Robertson was best known for her compassion toward wasps. She fed them. Sugar water. On her finger. She accepted their stings as merely ignorance on their part, and even when she fell into a nest of them and was stung all over her body, she maintained their goodness and innocence. The only thing Grandma loved more than wasps were her flower gardens, which she tended from dawn until after dark.