Comments Grandmother's Birthday

<"joyce.html">Grandmother's Birthday: 7/9/04

Today would have been my maternal grandmother's 83rd birthday but sadly she passed away a little over two years ago. She was born Joyce Marie Weber in Erie Pennyslvania, daughter of Coral Rose Weber and Peter Weber. She did most of her growing up in Schenectady, New York as her parents had to move in with relatives to save money during the Depression. It was a house full and a stressful time but she still managed to have happy memories from then.

Near the end of WWII, she sojourned in the Bay Area and came away convinced that she had to move to California. She would later move and convince her parents to move! How she accomplished that one, I don't know. She could be very persuasive when she wanted to be.

Around the same time, she met during a blind date her future husband Harold Peter Krug (born Peter Harold but he had switched his named around because there were too many Peters in the family already). After living briefly in his home town of Fond du Lac, Wisconsin, they moved to Menlo Park, California. It might have been Palo Alto first, then Menlo Park. Anyway, they eventually settled in Sunnyvale.

While in the Bay Area they did a wonderful job of raising one daughter (hi Mom!) and eventually moved to San Diego to help her raise their first grandchild (me!). I ended up spending many wonderful days with my grandparents and later just my grandmother after my grandfather passed away. It's really too bad she didn't get a chance to meet Sean but I see so much of her in him (funny how genetics work that way).

When you are Old by 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 your,
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.

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