Final Curtain

 After learning that Merle had passed away yesterday, I thought I'd post a few photos, including this shot of my sister's canvas.  Below, is one of Myra's very first paintings, from many, many years ago. Merle Howe was a fixture here in Tunbridge...from a lifetime of dairy farming to effortlessly crooning romantic ballads, awash in a pink glow on stage, the way I first remember him as a child, he was a unique, gentle, charming soul who left a lasting impression on all who knew him. His chuckle could warm a cold room just as well as his hard cider could, and his weathered features only seemed to grow more handsome as he aged. He and my Grampa used to tell stories about their younger days, playing baseball together, and other mischief you can imagine two Howe fellas getting into. Somewhere up there, there must be an orchestra tuning their strings for a rendition of Moon River, awaiting the grand entrance of a grand man. So long, Mr. Eightball. You won't be forgotten. Not ever.