https://soundcloud.com/user-5…

When you are old, by W.B. Yeats

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true,

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled

And paced upon the mountains overhead

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

Mom shared this with me.  We can hear it on this link, too:

https://www.poetryfoundation.…

Alan Bentley Lamberg  is one of my best friends. We’ve had a lot of good times laughs, and adventures in the past 30+ years. And I can’t wait to see what the next 30+ years will bring us.

During our friendship, I had the pleasure of meeting Walt. I really enjoyed talking to Walt about music, politics and his time serving in the US Army during the Korean War. One of the many things I enjoyed about Walt was his humor. He had a way of making light of life’s moments.

Speaking of music, Walt had an amazing talent as a Song Writer and Musician. I really enjoyed hearing his songs because they had a way of helping you take breath and enjoy life. And above all to be grateful for the friends and family we have. I was especially was fond of Walt’s song about Alan’s dog, Aspen. It truly did encapsulate the loyal, playful and loving personality Aspen exudes. 

Walt, as I'm sure you remember, Alan and I were two crazy kids, bouncing off the walls at your apartment and getting into mischief. As we got older, however, I enjoyed visiting with you as much as I enjoyed hanging out with Alan. You would share stories and ask questions about the things that were going on in my life. I was always honored when you would share past experiences in your life because I knew that I was one of the select few. Like my dad, you are a quiet soul and only share your words with those closest to you and since you're so careful with your words, each one has a special weight and thoughtfulness. Even us spazzy kids would shut up and listen when you talked and may have even shown a little reverence. A miracle in itself.

I remember very keenly having lunch at your house and chips ahoy cookies for desert. We would chat about any number of things even when Alan was bouncing off the walls on his own. I remember discussing music and drumming and writing, and you would always ask about how things were going in my life. You were attentive to the stories that I shared and I know how much you take interest in the adventures of Alan's other friends. That's very special to me.

I was always struck with how rich and powerful the songs you have written are, particularly over the last 5 years or so. I admit that I wanted to come out to Pueblo and drag you out to some little coffee shop somwhere and try to force you to share you wonderful talent with a tiny corner of the world, but like me, that isn't you. Just putting the creativity and art out there in your own, quiet way is enough.

Thank you for your kind words, the countless days you opened your home to me, and the wonderful care you've put into raising an amazing son, one of my best and oldest friends. He couldn't help but to inherit your sense of care, sense of humor, and unique creativity. All my best and all my love. 

Losing our patience

Autumn leaves piled up, My little arms and legs swim through, Cracking thrill of noise And lightly thrown, Maple brown and yellow and ochre.

Look up at the blue sky, A sea of wooden fingers, Waving slow, a brisk wind, Swaying the trees That stand sentry all around, watching.

Dad calls my name. He was waiting for me to turn, Ready to catch the baseball In my leather-webbed glove, Its scent blends with the chilly air.

As I throw it back I realize his tone was a little impatient. I wonder why he was sad. For that moment, it lingers.

It reminds me of other times When he lost his patience And he gets quiet, He hides himself while standing there, And happy air of a balloon wrinkles low.

This was one of our defining themes. Something bothers Dad, No matter how big or small, The result is the same, He goes within, I can't reach him.

I realize I live by this theme. We model what we feel From those closest to us, No matter how happy or sad, We are the same.

The choices I make In the most critical moments, I might lose my patience, I might get quiet, Hide in plain sight.

Or lose my mind, GODDAMNIT! When the customer service rep Says we have to visit a local bank branch To submit my power of attorney for my Dad. The closest branch is in IDAHO.

Then I talk with the supervisor. We work out some solutions to try While my Dad is in the hospital, While the leaves are falling Into piles in that park in Baltimore.

Our caregiver, L'Rae, tells me Dad fell asleep on the conference call. After the supervisor is done, My shaken heart urges one more thing, "Please tell your employee, I'm sorry for raising my voice."

- Alan, April 6, 2024.

When Walt and Alan started to write lyrics and music together, I was often listening to them on SoundCloud a site Walt liked to upload his compositions.  I wondered which song he wrote about our decade long relationship. I was never quite sure. He did write me a lovely poem for my 22nd birthday in late May 1970. A week before we were married. It is handwritten and I still get it out to read on my birthdays. 

One song father and son composed together that I  really enjoy, “Katrina Blues” has Alan singing and playing guitar. 

“Former wives” always have interesting stories to tell about their relationship. Walt and I met at Fort Holabird near Dundalk Maryland when he had about 6 months left in his Army tour. He was an instructor at the Intelligence School and worked part time in the NCO Club as a bartender. I was working part time as a waitress beginning in February 1970.  He asked me out on a date in late February.  Fast forward to June. We were married in a civil ceremony at Towson Court House and left the next day for Michigan where he would begin his graduate studies for a PH.D. In English Education. He already had a BA in English from Washington University and a Master in English from University of Houston.  His dissertation was on the poetry of William Butler Yeats.

We lived in Ann Arbor from 1970 to 1974 and after achieving his doctorate Walt began his 6 year Assistant Professor position at the College of Education, University of Texas at Austin.  I began my academic study in Austin at the Austin Community College LPN school in 1975.  I worked at Brackenridge Hospital until Alan was born in September 1977. We returned to Baltimore in 1980 and Walt began a career, not in academics,  rather editing and writing for insurance companies although he continued to work in education writing educational modules with a former colleague at UT. About 1982 Walt and I had an amicable divorce and remained friends. 

Walt was always a proud and loving supportive father to Alan during his lifetime.