Letters from Heaven
Last week, I spent Friday with my oldest daughter; I needed to visit her wedding venue, and I wanted a peek at her workplace. A day flitting around my alma mater— soon to be hers as well—is always a pleasure, but this time the experience carried a special significance.
Wandering the hundreds of quiet acres that would host her vows, and later sitting in a library of old and wonderful books, I walked out pieces of my dad’s legacy—conceived before time, but unfolding now. In the presence of of quiet fields and gifted writers, I enjoyed the smiles of Providence, as the Puritans might say.
My dad loved peace and quiet, too, but he found it tucked in the corner of our cluttered garage. His makeshift office—which doubled as his movie theater—consisted of a heavy, 1950’s desk and a couple cubicle walls he acquired from his employer. With this setup, he was content consuming books, articles and John Wayne movies in undisturbed solitude—all within feet of his lawnmower.
His garage space was his haven of rest; after a full day at work, my introverted dad needed to quiet his mind with words or westerns. It also gave
Article from LewRockwell