The quietest sound is larger

My father found his direction,
After the war he worked on a ship,
In the engine room he told me.
He brought me sailing as a child.
My mother was always first mate.
After he retired they sailed
Around the world on a boat
Which took the several years.
He often took us to a place
Where he grew up near Dedham
And New Bedford. Once I think that we went to the place his parents were buried.
But my sister and I played
And strayed. My mother told us
They would have their resting place there,
She hoped and even I could
Because that was one of the ways families
Could stay together after they died.
I never met his parents I think
They died before I was born.
Sally was his mother’s name I think.
I always heard that she was a good person.
In a story that I heard often, an interval of drinking preceded meals, the duration measured by the swing of a well-balanced scale made for sheep or wool. The cocktail hour.
My parents carried on this tradition throughout their lives.
George Wheeler's father was John Brooks Wheeler the third. I recall that there was a Roman numeral III on a brand that was used to mark tools. My Father kept it in his workshop where he showed me some of the tools marked with that brand, and the mold for tin soldiers, which he had used as a child. My father told me then, by the cobblestone fireplace, of his bitterness and sorrow that he had not been named after his father. He said he would like to be able to pass the name along to me. I was too young then to understand that this basement workshop with its high windows was not his fathers place but his own and with his father’s estate.
I don’t know what 'J.B.' did for a living he may have been a judge.
I think Knowing what your parents and grandparents did helps you to grow and understand your place in the world. Many traits and proclivities are inherited, knowing them helps an individual develop his or her own worldview.
For me Masha and Marie are the two people I know who remember "The Wards."
The quietest sound is larger

My father found his direction,
After the war he worked on a ship,
In the engine room he told me.
He brought me sailing as a child.
My mother was always first mate.
After he retired they sailed
Around the world on a boat
Which took the several years.
He often took us to a place
Where he grew up near Dedham
And New Bedford. Once I think that we went to the place his parents were buried.
But my sister and I played
And strayed. My mother told us
They would have their resting place there,
She hoped and even I could
Because that was one of the ways families
Could stay together after they died.
I never met his parents I think
They died before I was born.
Sally was his mother’s name I think.
I always heard that she was a good person.
In a story that I heard often, an interval of drinking preceded meals, the duration measured by the swing of a well-balanced scale made for sheep or wool. The cocktail hour.
My parents carried on this tradition throughout their lives.
George Wheeler's father was John Brooks Wheeler the third. I recall that there was a Roman numeral III on a brand that was used to mark tools. My Father kept it in his workshop where he showed me some of the tools marked with that brand, and the mold for tin soldiers, which he had used as a child. My father told me then, by the cobblestone fireplace, of his bitterness and sorrow that he had not been named after his father. He said he would like to be able to pass the name along to me. I was too young then to understand that this basement workshop with its high windows was not his fathers place but his own and with his father’s estate.
I don’t know what 'J.B.' did for a living he may have been a judge.
I think Knowing what your parents and grandparents did helps you to grow and understand your place in the world. Many traits and proclivities are inherited, knowing them helps an individual develop his or her own worldview.

For me, Masha and Marie are the two people I know who remember "The Wards." Lately she has been talking with her brother Jim, sending family pictures and stuff. I find it strange after years of not talking with him. Also i feel like an outsider. they both grew up in Panama. Obviously my grand parents were facinating people. But I grew up with another set of stories from another family and they havent talked to me in twenty years. I wonder how they are?