You can't buy this in stores..

The trip down south to Darling Daughter's was precisely as wondermous as I anticipated it would be!
Quite naturally,you may very well expect tons o' pictures documenting the experience.
...Too bad.
As much as photographs serve to freeze-frame precious moments in time,I think I'd like the legacy I leave my Grand babies to have,..I don't know how to 'splain it,..a more spiritual connection between them,..and myself.
Something they can see in themselves,and their offspring, that they might someday say, 'That comes from your Grandfather Sling!'..

And so,with this in mind,I wrote and performed the original tune 'Calliope'
shortly after my second Granddaughter's birth.
It was my intention to give her something of myself that belonged to her,that she might hand down in heirloom fashion.
Yet another selfish bid at immortality on my part,..but there it is.

I had done the same sort of self-aggrandizing for my eldest Granddaughter Tyler Anne some few months after she was born,and was able to snag it on film during this visit.

An original poem*,transcribed in calligraphic form for her first Christmas,which I'd like to cast here in cyber-bronze for future reference.

*Notes on the technical details...(I'm such a German).

I chose for the decorated capitals,my best interpretation of the 'Celtic' style of calligraphy.
The lower case lettering and flourishes are by design of my own hand,varying somewhat from the more rigid 'Old German',or 'Black letter' style.
By way of 'secret code',characters in green will be found to spell out her first name,'Tyler'.


..following in the third stanza with 'Anne',and providing the solution spelled out in it's entirety in the final stanza.

The yellow roses are a family tradition,passed down from my maternal Grandfather.
They represent 'The Yellow Rose of Texas'.
(Not being a particularly religious man himself,this tune was played at his funeral)..



Done on 16" x 22" parchment,using ink and colored pencil,the project took approximately 16 hours.
Hopefully,..my primitive attempt at actual art will be forgiven.

Follows,the poem;

'Whose little girl are you?'

'When you were small,oh,three feet tall',
cotton dress a checkered blue.
You'd greet all and sundry passers by,
with toothy grin and sparkling eye.
They'd ask,'Whose little girl are you?'

Your jacks and jump rope off to play,
'My daddy's little girl' you'd say.
Proud daughter of my youth.

Kind strangers know,
a child's heart grows,
love guided,pledged to truth.

Then summers long,
grown bright and strong,
in veil,and lace,I knew.
Two lives thus twined in hope and joy,
you'd vow to take that handsome boy,
when asked,
'Whose little girl are you?'..

Yet hand to hand,sweet Tyler Anne,
when Grandpa first holds you.

I'll hold you to my chest,
you'll smile,then squeek.
I'll give your little nose a tweek and ask,
'Whose little girl are you?'..

Now,I have to come up with something unique to hand down to young master Jackson.
A Grandfather's clock is really just a cabinet with clockworks installed right?
..I may very well be getting too old for this stuff.