I hope that when I go, there will be a ball game for me to watch.
Our home is adjacent to the county cemetery. Some people have said the damnedest things to me about living where I do, but when my 15-year-old son wants to practice his putting or to play soccer with his uncle, he goes behind the house to a yet-unused acre of the cemetery. My daily walk takes me through its grounds.
These unknown neighbors have become our friends. I have often thought how much my father would have loved being laid to rest near where his grandson practices with Dad's old nine-iron. Thanks for the great story.
PATRICIA CASSITY BROSIO
WITH THIS RINK, I THEE...
The hockey puck may be unloved and unappreciated by others (FOCUS, Oct. 8), but to me it has a romantic side.
In 1982, when I was a sophomore at Yale, I was watching a hockey game at Ingalls Rink with a group of friends when, suddenly, a puck came flying off the ice, heading directly toward my face. A very suave fellow in the seat beside me reached out and grabbed it just in time. It was love at first sleight.
Two years after college, Pete and I got married, and the player who hit the puck, Ed McManus, was an usher in our wedding. We still have that hockey puck, of course.