I cried when I first met him and he brought out in me such passion for creating. I cried when I visited him in the hospital sitting by his bead watching him sleep. I cried when I learned that "Hospice" would now be a part of my vocabulary. I cried when I went to the nursing home, saw his name on the door and his bed crisply made, yet empty of his body.

Thanks to everyone who participated in my dad's service on Sunday, October 28th. It was an amazingly beautiful day at

This was written sometime this past spring, upon the occasion of my first visit to John and Carol's studio...

Who is this pretty girl, ethereal and fleeting? I want to touch her, to see if she is real. I hope that John will tell me about her, if I am patient...

A white chair, paint peeling, standing alone in the center of the room, a dried pink rose leaning across the back, waiting, for John to come back. I feel like he's here.

I feel something very special, that I cannot explain, standing in the wonderful fading light of this day.

I thought I would do this little blog to put in some thoughts. I knew Jack for
forty three years and there were many sweet times. The black & white photo of us was taken in 1965 during the time we met. A handsome young artist with a soft spoken voice. I remember then how everyone was drawn to his gentle ways.