【正文】 ecently arrived from Germany came over to converse with him in German because he hoped some day to study with the great professors of medicine in Vienna. Eventually, he earned seven degrees, attended 11 different colleges and universities, and in 1951, when he was 82 sent us a cheerful little note from England to say that he had just enrolled for a graduate course in Elizabethan literature at Oxford. My sister, Pherbia, and I were the immediate beneficiaries of Father39。s insatiable hunger to lean. Every spring, carrying his geologist39。s hammer, he would take us hiking through the mountains to study mineral formations and search for rocks and wildflowers for his specimen collections. We were expected to identify all specimens without hesitation. On winter nights, when the skies were especially clear from our, 10,000foot vantage point in the Rockies, he would set up a telescope and wake us to e view the stars, which he then named with the affectionate familiarity of a local tour guide. For the rest of my life, wherever I traveled around this earth, the stars remained my friends. Plain, distinct speech was a particular concern of my father and he was constantly drilling me in the art of elocution. Before I was three, he was reading aloud to me from the Bible, Shakespeare and Mark Twain. Thereafter, I read aloud to him so he could work on my diction. By the time I was in the fifth grade, I could recite from a whole range of classical literature and poetry —— and had to be prepared to do so at a moment39。s notice. Once, when we happened to meet near the church, he swept me inside, stood me up in the pulpit and said, Go ahead. It was a familiar signal. I promptly launched into a recitation while, from a rear pew, Father kept coaching, Aspirate your H39。s! Louder! And put more fire into it! Of course, here have been times as a young man, when I got tired of study and devoted my time to playing. Then Father would admonish me succinctly by quoting a saying from Shakespeare, If all the year were playing holidays, to sport would be as tedious as to work . Obviously, his efforts were not entirely in vain, for my voice has enabled me to earn a fair livelihood. But that fact doesn’t begin to define the enormous debt I owe my father.The Best Kind of LoveI have a friend who is falling in love. She honestly claims the sky is bluer. Mozart moves her to tears. She has lost 15 pounds and looks like a cover girl.I39。m young again! she shouts exuberantly.As my friend raves on about her new love, I39。ve taken a good look at my old one. My husband of almost 20 years, Scott, has gained 15 pounds. Once a marathon runner, he now runs only down hospital halls. His hairline is receding and his body shows the signs of long working hours and too many candy bars. Yet he can still give me a certain look across a restaurant table and I want to ask for the check and head home.When my friend asked me What will make this love last? I ran through all the obvious reasons: mitment, shared interests, unselfishness, physical attraction, munication. Yet there39。s more. We still have fun. Spontaneous good times. Yesterday, after slipping the rubber band off the rolled up newspaper, Scott flipped it playfully at me: this led to an allout war. Last Saturday at the grocery, we split the list and raced each other to see who could make it to the checkout first. Even washing dishes can be a blast. We enjoy simply being together.And there are surprises. One time I came home to find a note on the front door that led me to another note, then another, until I reached the walkin closet. I opened the door to find Scott holding a pot of gold (my cooking kettle) and the treasure of a gift package. Sometimes I leave him notes on the mirror and little presents under his pillow.There is understanding. I understand why he must play basketball with the guys. And he understands why, once a year, I must get away from the house, the kids—and even himto meet my sisters for a few days of nonstop talking and laughing.There is sharing. Not only do we share household worries and parental burdens—we also share ideas. Scott came home from a convention last month and presented me with a thick historical novel. Though he prefers thrillers and science fiction, he had read the novel on the plane. He touched my heart when he explained it was because he wanted to be able to exchange ideas about the book after I39。d read it.There is forgiveness. When I39。m embarrassingly loud and crazy at parties, Scott forgives me. When he confessed losing some of our savings in the stock market, I gave him a hug and said, It39。s okay. It39。s only money.There is sensitivity. Last week he walked through the door with that look that tells me it39。s been a tough day. After he spent some time with the kids, I asked him what happened. He told me about a 60yearold woman who39。d had a stroke. He wept as he recalled the woman39。s husband standing beside her bed, caressing her hand. How was he going to tell this husband of 40 years that his wife would probably never recover? I shed a few tears myself. Because of the medical crisis. Because there were still people who have been married 40 years. Because my husband is still moved and concerned after years of hospital rooms and dying patients.There is faith. Last Tuesday a friend came over and confessed her fear that her husband is losing his courageous battle with cancer. On Wednesday I went to lunch with a friend who is struggling to reshape her life after divorce. On Thursday a neighbor called to talk about the frightening effects of Alzheimer39。s disease on her fatherinlaw39。s personality. On Friday a childhood friend called longdistance to tell me her father had died. I hung up the phone and thought, This is too much heartache for one week. Through my tears, as I went out to run some errands, I noticed the boisterous orange blossoms of the gladiolus outside my window. I heard the delighted laughter of my son and his friend as they played. I caught sight of a wedding party emerging from a neighbor39。s house. The bride, dressed in satin and lace, tossed