Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
-- Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 5
This is a beloved photograph. This is a beloved group. Ron and I were in our courtship stage at this time. Left to right, my dad, me, Ron and my mother. This is the only picture that exists of Ron and me with both of my parents. My dad died a few months after this picture was taken. Mother is gone now too. Sometimes pictures conjure up such memories so special and happy that they actually hurt. You know what I mean?