Online Condolences

March 20, 2008 | 1 Comment

Feel free to leave your condolences as a comment to this post.

Poem: Tool & Die

March 20, 2008 | Comments Off on Poem: Tool & Die

(A poem about my father written in the mid 90s) Calipers and micrometers, cradled by the red felt lining the half opened drawers of the wooden toolbox that belonged to his father, wait to measure the tolerances of parts that must work together without touching. And his corrugated space smells of the sweet oil sliding […]

Robert L. Lyon (bio for his 50 year H.S. class reunion)

March 19, 2008 | Comments Off on Robert L. Lyon (bio for his 50 year H.S. class reunion)

Robert L. Lyon Crawfordsville, IN (Married to Nancy – 2 children, 1 grandchild) Retired Immediately after graduating from Crawfordsville High School in 1955, I went to work for my uncle at Lyon’s Machine Shop as a machinist and worked there until about 1959, when I went to work for Summor Metalcraft Corp. to learn the […]

Thoughts after Six Days in Crawfordsville

February 26, 2008 | Comments Off on Thoughts after Six Days in Crawfordsville

(February 26th) I just got back to Austin from a six day stay in Crawfordsville, from February 21st through the 26th, and I thought y’all might like some impressions. (In my best Groucho Marx voice) “Outside of a dog, a book is a man’s best friend. Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read.” […]

Mercy Now

January 12, 2008 | Comments Off on Mercy Now

Just on a whim I played “Mercy Now” by Mary Gauthier. My father could use a little mercy now The fruits of his labor Fall and rot slowly on the ground His work is almost over It won’t be long and he won’t be around I love my father, and he could use some mercy […]

My Dad’s Last New Year

January 6, 2008 | Comments Off on My Dad’s Last New Year

In trying to get some perspective on my father’s glioblastoma multiforme, I compiled this time line: 11/17/07 – Mom asks me to call dad for general chit-chat. I know something’s not right – she never asks for something like that unless there’s an agenda. I call, and from his first sentence, I know something’s not […]