As a preteen I went to live with my Grandparents on their Dairy Farm, living there until I left to join the Navy in my early teens. The farm holds such precious memories for me and in later years, I became the family historian, publishing the Family Tree Genelogy. My research in the family history took me to the farm over and over again, searching for human interest stories about the family and friends that either worked the farm or had some association with it. I tried to look back in time and follow the path my Grandparents took when they first exited their birth country. I tried to look into their hearts and imagined the feelings they felt, the uncertainty, the anticipation, and doubt. I tried to imagine myself doing the same thing and wondered about how I would afford the voyage, where would I live in a new country, what would I do for a living? Y. After many years of successfully fulfilling their dreams, raising a family on a farm with cows, pigs, chickens, horses, their existence generated hundreds of photographs and story's to explain them. I did not have to look far to fill the pages in the Family Tree Book and now in my later years it's so easy to remember my tender years on the farm when life was so mellow.

There was silent hope in my heart that this was a direction I could find solace from a broken heart, a possible friend, a lover, a mate. Friends knew almost all of me and some only guessed, guessed even as I did, was I pushing myself and would I be true to this someone or fold back into myself, into my past sorrow and hopelessness? Time is relentless and waits for no one's approval and years lost are never recovered. Even as my shadow stays with me, the truth stays with me and I succumbed and profited. Feelings shared are a multiplier and thence my half full cup overflowed. The past will always be there, but no longer within reach to wound me and I became loved again.

The recitation portion of this song has no bearing on my experience, but the first lines are branded on my heart and have been there for over 70 years. Mail Call for a young 17 year old in Boot Camp is perhaps the sweetest moments of the entire experience. A simple letter from the sweetest girl, someone you would ransom your soul for - should she return the feelings and move the experience to reality, oh how my heart would yearn. And then, the sick feeling of reading those line, "Dear xxxx, I don't know how to hell you etc". I know, it's not "Dear John", exactly those words, but the experience is the same. A buzzing in my head, a dryness in my mouth, my mind screamed in silence, my soul fell to the floor, my world collapsed and I was left hollow. The years never released me from this experience. For years I imagined that my world would return to normal but it never did. Girls I dated were never a replacement, places "we" were ever at would fire up the feelings, driving past her house was an elation but a sick one. Several years ago she died on the operating table while in surgery for diabetic amputation. Only then was the fire in the furnace idled down and the direction of the feeling was transported to the belief that earth time would be of no importance in celestial eternity.