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 62^nd 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 this, this 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