Our house at the beach has been a place of respite, of calm, for almost ten years now. It was one of the few places (Dodger stadium being another one), where Don felt he could really relax and breathe. As hard as it is to go to the beach by myself now, it continues to be a place that is good for my soul.
I’ve tried to keep up with projects around the beach house. Last spring I was there for a week and had seven repairmen come through in four days. Lots of things needed tending to, needed repair.
Especially the flower box in the front yard. The red geraniums that spilled over the front of it hid that fact that the box had probably been there for 20 years and was simply rotting away. I tried nailing it back together. I tried wood glue. It just kept falling apart.
Don’s good friend Chris generously offered to build me a new flower box. He said it would be a good project for him and his son to do together. Of course I said yes. Of course I’d like a new flower box.
Little did I know what this project, this “triumph of Irish engineering” would mean to him.
I want to share this lovely tribute to Don in yesterday’s LA Times, written by our wonderful friend, Chris Erskine. Thanks Chris, for the flower box.
And thanks for loving my husband so well.