Here's a picture of my family, taken about 1968. Tracy, Bobbie, Linda, 'DeDe'. I use to really hate being called "DeDe". Don't know why, really. A kid thing or maybe too many negative memories attached to it. Years later friends were allowed to call me 'Dave.' Many many years later, when I developed a relationship with my mother again; she called me 'DeDe' a couple of times, then later realized I responded better to David. So much water under the bridge now, uhm? But - Don't I look cute next to my mother?The other day I finally called Elon Fay back on the phone. She was someone I re-met at dad's funeral. We talked for quiet awhile. She's a first cousin of my dads, and as kids they seem to have been close friends. I wrote her a rather long letter. It'll be neat to aquire more material for my writing of OUR HISTORY's NAME: An Abidgement of The Texas Snows, book.
Getting reaquainted with Elon will be interesting, because I know little to nothing of my grandmother's side of the family. Other than a few photographs and weak story lines; like, 'Oh yeah she's the one who had a garden and raised chickens' - kay?
