My mind could hear the gravel crunching between the damp earth and the rubber tires. But no, this Sunday morning I would not ride to Morrow Bible Church. The damp air entering our apartment window was not the lake breeze drifting to meet me on the cabin porch swing. No wanderings through the woods and shouldering of the guns with other city folks for target practice. No fear of falling out of the canoe, or tiring of pedaling the paddle boats through the lily pads past the beaver dam.
Rather, we treated the Whites and Deborah to the Old Spaghetti Factory, then spent the evening with Rachel and Deborah who discussed Homer’s Iliad. New memories for Memorial Day.
~~~See another photo in "Minneapolis"