This is my Papa. I met my Papa when I was thirteen years old. I was already taller than him. And he still had some color in his hair. Since then we have both grown quite a crop of steely gray hair. According to legend, he fell in love with Momma over homemade spaghetti. She …
There is a place in Central Pennsylvania where the trees are weeping and the mountain itself is sighing. It's protector, it's guardian is dead, passed into another realm to be reunited with his lady love, my grandmother, Honey. Yesterday, my grandfather better known to his family and friends as Popper or Pappa, passed into the Summer …
Lucinda Rose 