December 21, 2022 I live my life as though everything that happens has a purpose—whether I believe it or not. Last Saturday, dozens of people gathered at Richard Shelton’s home in Tucson to remember him. Just friends and food and tears. No speeches. In preparation, my wife arranged photos of him and his family with twinkle lights and candles, setting out his scrapbooks and pages of poetry. I filled the house with aromas of vegetarian chili and mulled cider, a la Dick Shelton. I baked his favorite blackberry pie, using my recipe from our many writing excursions to Yachats, Oregon. I’m sure he was smiling at my own touch of flare.
There's a loss of words for loss so silence is golden. Condolences.
beautiful <3
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
Wish I could have been there. Sounds like it was a beautiful afternoon Thanks for sharing, Ken.