Strawberry Fields forever

I’ve unearthed this photograph from the deepest depths of our photo archives. Anne protested my plans to publish it, but I feel that it is far enough back in the historical record that it is in at least my domain, public. I may subsequently rue this decision. She is obviously posing for the photo. She has a smile, more of a toothy grin, on her face. Her squinty eyes seem to belie any happiness. Look to her headdress though. It is a knotted handkerchief, probably once water-soaked for cooling. Ripe strawberries speak of warm summer months here in Missouri. Anne being a Michigan girl has never taken to Missouri’s summer heat. My question though is who are those people on the right. Is that Bob, orange shirted in the background? I think that is Noreen to Anne’s left. Anyway, it is a nice butt shot. 😉

Bob, Nink, Anne and I once conspired to recreate what was already then a meme. Not an Internet meme mind you, because back then the Internet was not even a twinkle in Al Gore’s eye. Bob and Nink had received as a holiday gift a pasta maker. This led to pasta making and pasta eating. This being the Reagan era supply side economy, we quickly ended up with more pasta then we could eat. Our solution was the pasta tree. One Saturday morning, we recreated the mythical Italian pasta harvest. Anne dressed for type as an Italian peasant and posed seemingly plucking whole or at least whole wheat pasta strands from an otherwise bare branched tree.

Bob and Nink are old friends in every sense of that measure. Sorry, Bob, sorry, Nink, but it is true. This weekend, they plan two touch and go stops that maybe we can extend into a refueling one. They are attending a wedding in Branson, but their real claim to fame is their son, Andrew. Last year, he graduated from Fontbonne and this year he attends Yale. He is in Saint Louis to receive an award at Fontbonne.

Let me take you down, ’cause I’m going to Strawberry Fields. Nothing is real and nothing to get hung about. Strawberry Fields forever.