Postcard to Gretchen in May 1987

I’m not exactly sure when I wrote this, but based on the Gary Hart reference, it may have been on 8 May 1987. (You can click on the image to see a larger version of it.)

JP to Gretchen (May 1987)

The job reference confirms that it was some time of May 1987. Mary was flying in because Dean and I were celebrating, with our respective girlfriends, five years at our respective aerospace firms. Indeed, I even had a cake made for after dinner that read “FFY” for “five years.”

Postcard to Gretchen

Here’s a postcard I sent to Gretchen (c/o Patrick) on 6 April 1987. Not much news but included for the completeness of the record. (Click on it to see a larger version.)

JP to Gretchen (6 Apr 1987)

About the Mary reference: Mary and I had driven to Vegas for my birthday celebration, but I failed to make hotel reservations. It was snowing up there, but we walked around and had dinner and enjoyed the sites, such as they are. I couldn’t find a place for us to stay so we drove to Henderson, still couldn’t find anything. We finally traveled over Hoover Dam through heavy snow and stopped for the night in Kingman, following big trucks, who cleared the tracks for us, in my Karmann Ghia. She was quite angry with and thought we were going to die.

Oktav (the Story of the Harpsichord)

Stephanie’s instrument was recorder so from the outset it was evident we needed a harpsichord.  My experience with music told me that if you had the instruments, the musicians would appear, a kind of magic. So if you had a guitar, for instance, everyone with an illusion of being the next Bob Dylan or Cat Stevens would show up in your living room. Given our new interest in Baroque and Classical, best would be to dispose of the guitar. I passed it along to my daughter Gretchen. She at nineteen was visiting Spain for the first time.  She fell out with a bartender named Pedro and smashed my guitar over his head.

Continue reading “Oktav (the Story of the Harpsichord)”

Reconnecting with Patrick

Patrick sent me this post card in July 1975, trying to reach me in Phoenix. As a result, we reconnected in person after a decade’s absence. I was 19.

That summer trip and the events that followed deserve several chapters in a book I’ll likely never write.

Patrick writes to my P O Box in Tempe trying to connect with me.
Patrick Trying to Reach Me in Phoenix
Patrick's post card from Phoenix. Picture of the motel where they were staying.
The Front of the Post Card