Back in the early 1960s ,
my Dad did a lot of remodeling and other carpenter work on cabins
in the Balsam Lake area.
It got to be a tradition on Fridays to have happy hour at one of the cabins
and somehow it got named
The Children's Hour, after a famous poem by Longfellow.
One of the cabin owners,
money was no object to most of these people,
had highball glasses made for those who gathered.
Dad hung onto his all these many years
and at some point in time in his last years he handed it to me.
I use it when I want to have a Manhattan or a Old Fashioned
and of course guard it with my life.
So anyway, tonight I'm having an old-fashioned and toasting my Dad.
Between the dark and the daylight,
when the night is beginning to lower,
comes a pause in the day's occupations,
that is known as The Children's Hour.
A nice way to end Lille Jule Aften.
No comments:
Post a Comment