After my father passed in 1992, my mother was lost. Her best friends was gone. Her partner, her soul-mate, her everything. During their retirement years they had taken many trips via bus, airplane, and car. Sometimes they would come out to visit their daughter Marylou, who was transferred to this area in 1982. Dad loved my place on the lake. He and I would joke about how in Massachusetts this would be considered a pond, as it is just over a mile to walk around and twenty-two feet at it’s deepest depth. But here in central New York it’s considered a lake, so we’ll leaveit at that.
