Here are pictures of Patrick in Paris and myself trying to duplicate his pose. As a bonus, there’s also a picture of Patrick in Soller from 2003.
Continue reading “Paris”Trees
Hello, all,
Happy 2019!
This is an interesting article I stumbled upon while doing some research for a project I’m working on:
Why forest bathing is good for your health
It’s about “forest bathing”, which is a term I find rather poetic and beautiful.
I suppose that’s why it reminded me of Stephanie and Patrick.
Stephanie talked about being a tree and hearing the leaves of trees on her death bed. And I know that Stephanie and Patrick both loved to walk amongst the umbrella pines in the mountains of Mallorca.
Perhaps Patrick was able to enjoy the view of the pines one last time before he passed.
I certainly hope so.
Love, Alison
JP to Patrick and Stephanie (2 Jan 1991)
Here’s a letter I wrote to Pat and Stephanie in early 1991, found in Patrick’s files. Pretty boring stuff, but I do mention John’s death and Mary’s suicide.
Continue reading “JP to Patrick and Stephanie (2 Jan 1991)”These Memories
These memories
Unfairly risen from distant, awkward past
Shimmer on horizon
Distort the view
Reflections
From murky mirror in rusty frame
Hint at what once was
Mar the recollections
With clouded silvered glass
And cobwebs draped in ornate corners
Eyes focused forward
We march toward the future
But our boot laces
Like these memories
Remain entangled in the thickets
From where we tread before
© 2019 John P. M. Dillon
Letter from JDD to Patrick (26 Dec 1968)
This letter is happier than its predecessor.
I Had a Great Respect for Your Father
I received this lovely note from Lynn Habian, concert pianist, on Christmas Eve and am posting it here with her permission.
My husband and I send our sincere deepest condolences to you and your family. I spoke to your father many times, on the island and from the States.
I’m a pianist who played at La Residencia 3 times- 2012, 2014 and 2015. I was put in touch with your Dad thru Louise, PR at the hotel. I didn’t meet your Dad, although I invited him to my concert. I did correspond with him thru email. I sensed after the loss of his Stephanie, he wanted to avoid the musical scene.
I had a great respect for your father. Because my teachers in past were older people, I agreed with his views on how things should be handled professionally in music business. So many things have changed.
I did read his obituary and saw the video that was done with you and family and friends. Lovely.
If you wish to know who I am, please go to my website: lynnhabian.com
Again, I’m very sorry for your loss.
Most sincerely,
Lynn Habian, USA
Letter from JDD to Pat (22 Aug 1968)
Here’s a letter that my dad John wrote to my dad Patrick, in which he describes his hope that Patrick can regain custody of Jennifer and Gretchen.
Letter from Donna to Pat (30 Jan 1972)
Here’s the first of many letters I referenced in the New Year’s Eve 2018 post. I feel badly for my mom. She really, really had it rough her whole life. I believe if you click on the images you will be able to see a larger version of each.
New Year’s Eve 2018
And so, once again we prepare to celebrate another new year, each time hoping that the incoming will be better than the outgoing. 2018 was better than its predecessor. The loss of Patrick, though still impacting most of us in ways large and small, is less raw than the year before.
The amount of effort remaining is huge, but the treasure trove of Patrick’s writings, correspondence, files, and documents will be scanned and posted as time allows.
Continue reading “New Year’s Eve 2018”Shorty (Short Story)
Kids were fascinated by the way Shorty got around East End. In those days, the only paved road in our part of town was Highway 50, unless you count the short road up the hill to the Gospel Tabernacle. The remainder of roads were mud tracks, sometimes covered with what they called red-dog, the rose-colored residue from the burned-out slate dumps down at Minden. On these, cutting back and forth across what was once the Rhodes place, we regularly stubbed our toes if we went barefoot on our bikes, and new cars were turned into rattle traps in a few months. In the winter the depressions were yellow slime pits, or frozen plates between the jagged edges of red dog.
Continue reading “Shorty (Short Story)”