Margaret and Michael stayed with us for at least three weeks (maybe more) after, I believe, one of the summer weeks at Pinewoods Camp in Massachusetts. They had a gig or two in Manhattan, coming up, and so needed to hang out for awhile. What company! Lots of music of course, and jokes and stories,with George continually asking, "What's she SAYING?" Most memorable to me was her cooking of oatmeal for Michael's breakfast....it did no good to tell her that it was rolled oats and only needed cooking no longer than five minutes- she'd stand and keep adding water, stirring the pot for a full forty minutes. Michael would roll his eyes and tap his head. "Nah, no good to tell her- she's done so all her life....what's to do? I j'st drink it, close eyes 'n drink it down!"

There are pictures in George's 'performers' gallery' on my website,   of the two of them "singing for pennies," using our back patio for the street, looking up at the windows watching for the coins to fall. Margaret was such an actor- and Michael followed her lead. But when she was tired, she'd just sit in the rocker and talk quietly of her life- the good and the bad times- and that was the real Margaret, I think- our childhood memories were very similar- not much money, hard times, hard work, mixed in with love, merriment, music and lots of joy to offset the sorrows.

When they were packing to go home, there was much talk begween them, not to be understood by us... finally Margaret shouted, "That's it- the little yellow fiddle!" and Michael agreed. They had decided to send to our son Jon who had been 'taking lessons' on Michael's fiddle, one of his old ones when they got home. So, about a month later, George and Jon had to drive to Kennedy Airport and bail it out, for a customs fee of eighty-five dollaars, "The Little Yellow Fiddle," with its own little bow, and it's still in our instrument closet today, a treasured possession and memory.