Monday, June 4, 2012

Family Reunion: final recap

I think the reunion was definitely a success, and after such a fun weekend I was energized and proud to have family members, both immediate and extended, that I enjoy so much.

When I was a child we were never close to my dad's parents, and I only met them a couple of times. If they would've seen me in a crowd I'm not even sure they would've recognized me. They were both wounded people, so I don't hold anything against them. That being said, I'm so grateful that my mom had great parents and that they've always been such wonderful grandparents. They've always been so loving and interested in me and make me feel like I really matter to them. (It's actually their anniversary today, so happy 62nd anniversary, Grandma and Grandpa!)
I love my grandpa so much. He's so spry and is in such great health for a 90-year-old. He's truly my hero. He's a bit of a local celebrity in Rochester, Minnesota, and I'm so proud that I can claim him as MY grandpa! (You can read more about him in thisthis and this blog post.) I'm so glad Grandpa didn't die in World War II when he probably should have since he was injured so severely because the world has truly a better place for having Warren Zimmerman around!
This is a poem that my Uncle Rick wrote for Grandpa entitled The Faithful Gardener. I am definitely not gifted in the ways of poetry and would have a really difficult time writing such a nice poem, so I was very impressed, to say the least. (Click here to hear Uncle Rick recite his poem.) Here's the poem:

With withered hands with fading eyes
On potter’s bench his fingers toil
They do by heart their living task
The faithful gardener works the soil

In days of youth, in summers past
Amidst his mother’s skirts he’d stand
Student of an ancient craft
Bringing food from out the land

He went to school, he went to war
Returning to resume his life
He learned to teach, he got a job
An in-so-doing found a wife

In his garden, now appear
Four blossoms sent from up above
Ones not tethered to the soil
Those he tended, too, with love

They helped him with the garden, too
And in the grass they’d play
He fed them with his garden plants
Until as flowers they went away

Many gardens did he tend
Expending many hours
He pruned the plants of other men
Releasing them as flowers

The autumn gave him time to rest
Recounting all his seeds
He took a turn in prison bars
Drawing flowers out of weeds

His seeds have spread both far and wide
Found soil and then they grew
Gardens in their sundry plots
Bring forth bright flowers, too

In four score years and ten he’s seen
Autumn’s death and then rebirth
He feels the ebb and flow of life
Surging through the earth

Throughout the hist’ry of his years
He’s always been the best
His progeny picks up the task
The faithful gardener now, can rest


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