Bob, you surprise the heck out of me sometimes and I don't know why that should be, because I know -- we all know -- what a caring and giving person you are. And I knew of your literary endeavour, though you have never "published" it before. Your special line, "...each summer, in the evenings, when the sun goes down and the breeze is blowing at just the right pitch and you listen carefully, you can hear them, as the breeze carries their far-off cries across the lake...." reminds me of the Laurention lake of my childhood, perhaps the single element of my youth that I miss more than any other. I remember the loons that you could hear in the evening from the swamp at the far end of the lake, "if the wind was right." I remember the far-off whistle of the train that woke me in the grey early morning mist. David can tell you how many people are on this list, but I think it safe to say that every single one of them is praying(or whatever) that your Dad makes it to that special day. Better still if he should live to read your book. It is a rare honour to call you friend. Thank-you for inviting us into your heart Malcolm PS to Linda. Excuse me. In my appreciation of Bob's words, I have forgotten you and your Dad, who were the object of them. Lacking his eloquence, I will only offer my condolences and hope that those memories will, in time, find a natural and painless place in your heart. Malcolm