My dear sweet Timbo, I visited you and my parents resting place a few months ago. It was such the perfect bay area day, crisp air, blue skies, slight breeze, quiet. As I sat there, I watched 2 hawks soaring over the hill behind me, exactly where we used to hike on breaks from De Anza, you know the spot where we would park by the old Monastary, walk the trail past the farm, past the deer, and we would sit overlooking the valley. I an convinced these must have been the same hawks that as you sat playing your flute atop Fremont Peak... they soared free overhead. I say this because I was playing some of YOUR music and the just popped in.
I still hear your warm and innocent laugh when I am composing and totally screw up. I think of you when Sharon and I took you to Carl's Jr. for your first time ( sorry Diane, it was Sharons idea). Oh how I wish you could just magically appear our here on my ranch near Dripping Springs TX- We could watch the dozens of deer feeding under the oaks, and watch their ears twitch to our music and just sit on the back porch and talk about our lifes.
Diane and Christina are doing well, but like the hundreds who's lives you touched... we miss you and will always appreciate your gentleness with love.
~ Patbo out for now ~