I saw a little path that led off from it and suggested, “Hey, let’s check out where this path goes.”Teri gave me one of her looks that said, “... think you’re crazy, but I still love you anyhow.”We had hiked for about 10 minutes, when Sam squealed in delight, as she chased a squirrel off the trail. Suddenly she stopped in her tracks and stood there like a statue. I walked over and asked, “What is it, Sam?”When I stood next to her I was blown away. Across the canyon we could see the sheer red and. She just sat there, her ghostly white breast resting on his lips. She was looking right back at him with that piercing gaze of hers. With a sigh, the farmer leaned over and wiggled his pudgy fingers in front of the child's face, trying to amuse and pacify the child. For a few seconds, it seemed to be working; the little boy's sobs slowly quieted, and he began gazing hungrily at the old farmer's dirty fingers. The child watched them go back and forth. Then slowly the baby opened his jaw wide and. It was valid and showed Claire was at least listening.Karen paused. I knew what her answer would be. We’d discussed it, she replied. We knew the question would be asked and had decided that unvarnished truth was the only way to go. We HAD discussed telling the children something that sounded noble and noteworthy, but the simple truth was much harder for Karen to share. It was one of the reasons we had expected to have more time before this meeting. Giving her children the answer to that simple. He swept it every morning with a broom that looked as old as he. The house was in good repair. John had watched him paint the outside of the house last summer. For a man in his seventies, he was still very active.“Oh, John. I didn’t see you there.”“I was just waiting for you to get settled, Mr. Jensen.”“Call me Jim.”“Sure, Mr. Jensen.”“I had to try. You’re too polite for these times. A kid called me old fart this morning. I guess I prefer Jim to Mr. Jensen and Mr. Jensen to old fart.”John.