We will never forget.
But it's not all sadness. My youngest daughter was married at three o'clock today. Happiness.



Stephen

Congratulations Stephen. A proud Papa is a wonderful thing.

Best wishes to the young couple.


Les

We are celebrating Baby Jake's first birthday tomorrow.....I suppose Percival will hold it against him that he was lucky enough to be born in a country where he'll be able to eat every day, but that's hardly the baby's fault

Not only will he be able to eat, but if he grows up to be the type of kid who bites the hand that feeds him, he'll be able to enjoy the technology produced by the system he has grown to distrust.

Plus he'll be able to criticize without fear of censure, those who have the courage to lead that system against a sea of would-be destroyers.

Les

Stephen,

Congrats on the wedding of your daughter, my best to the happy couple.

john

Do we get a picture? Did she have you in a top hat to give her away?

I like wedding photos.

Congrats Stephen. Amazing you are in still in a fit state at the end of the day to post on Emule. Best wishes to all.

Ian

Stephen,

I wish the couple the best of everything. My only daughter was married four years ago on November 4th. Isn't it funny how your life flashes before your eyes?

Stephen:

Congratulations to the proud papa. May you and your wallet soon recover.

joet

"When did she get to be a beauty?
When did he grow to be so tall?
Wasn't it yesterday when they were small?
Sunrise, sunset... "

Dunno. One minute she's splashing and giggling in the bath, the next a woman, the next a mother. Oh.

GIRL IN THE DOORWAY

Dorianne Laux

She is twelve now, the door to her room
closed, telephone cord trailing the hallway
in tight curls. I stand at the dryer, listening
through the thin wall between us, her voice
rising and falling as she describes her new life.
Static flies in brief blue stars from her socks,
her hairbrush in the morning. Her silver braces
shine inside the velvet case of her mouth.
Her grades rise and fall, her friends call
or they don't, her dog chews her new shoes
to a canvas pulp. Some days she opens her door
and musk rises from the long crease in her bed,
fills the dim hall. She grabs a denim coat
and drags the floor. Dust swirls in gold eddies
behind her. She walks through the house, a goddess,
each window pulsing with summer. Outside,
the boys wait for her teeth to straighten.
They have a vibrant patience.
When she steps onto the front porch, sun shimmies
through the tips of her hair, the V of her legs,
fans out like wings under her arms
as she raises them and waves. Goodbye, Goodbye.
Then she turns to go, folds up
all that light in her arms like a blanket
and takes it with her.



Stephen