Then one day I met her family; a wonderful GG, a handsome son, a tenderly beautiful daughter. I was in their home and it was a place of peace and contentment. There was a naturalness and a balance about it all. He was her husband. The children called him Dad. They loved and admired him; he loved and cherished them and worked hard and long to meet their needs. And yet Annette was there too, in him. I could detect no difference in the family attitude as he moved from one role to the other. Self restraint and consideration marked the activities of Annette so that her fun and satisfaction were not bought at the expense of family happiness.

Idaho was beautiful to me because Annette lived there. On winter evenings I would get out my flying maps and go over the route I would take in my plane when, come May, I would once again go there. Her house on the scenic hill was like a beacon on a dark night, beckoning me to come up North. Now the light had gone out. I was sick with loneliness. I thought of the loved ones who were left behind and prayed quietly for them. It was many hours that night before sleep came to release me I tried to write a few words of comfort to those dear ones

It was good to have known Sheldon. His life reached far beyond the circle of his loved ones to touch others like me. Though he lived out his life in the body of a man there was also the spirit of a gentle kindly woman living there in the home on the hill and this is the person I really knew. She was my friend, but oh so briefly. My hours with her seem so short now like a walk around the block together.

This evening before the call came I had been dreaming of the won- derful weekend that Annette was planning for us in May, the annual gathering at her home of all the girls in the northwest. I had been working on a new peach and white dress that I was to wear at her banquet. I carefully put it away. I would never finish it. The tears came now. I lay back in the chair and wept for my friend Annette.

Her days have known their number; her life's work done she has moved over the Great Divide. But I will walk again the streets of memory with her in the days and years to come. Perhaps I shall never again walk up that winding road to her hilltop mecca. But if I do I know that in my heart I shall see her there on the lawn, tall, blond and good looking, smiling and waiting to greet me.

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