Happy Hour Memories

Recently Mariana lent me a book of poetry written by a past member of Sandpiper's Resort, Dick Bunstock.

I didn't know Dick real well. I spoke to him several times in passing, and danced one memorable dance with him one New Year's Eve. But I'm not going there....

When I showed the book of poetry to John P. one afternoon, was I surprised at his excitement! He also had a book of Dick's...a different one.

After reading both books I regret I didn't know Dick better.

John brought up Dick's name and memory at happy hour...then wrote this:

So who was this fellow named Dick Bunstock?

Well, he was a farmer from Kansas, pictured here riding his John Deere tractor. Dick and his wife Dee were long standing members of our greater Sandpiper’s Family. Regrettably, both passed away in recent years. Dick was a unique personality; he was a kind, gentle, bear of a man, weathered by life and sun.


Memories of Dick recently surfaced at Thursday’s happy hour by those who had the good fortune to know and value him.

Dick, in his older years, found himself struggling to hold on to a remembered world he knew was ebbing away, ever so slowly, building by building, town by town, memory by memory.

You would never have believed this big, often gruff looking hulk of a man was a poet, a true romantic at heart. He shared with us his poetry and writings, reflecting his passionate view of how life changes over time, as do we. It was a remarkable journey for us to revisit his spirit and the words of wisdom in his writing and to share those memories at that particular happy hour – for it’s never the same each day.

Richard Bunstock was named Poet in Residence for the State of Kansas.

Here is one of his poems....

I made a trip to yesterday,

A visit to the past,

To try to find what I had lost,

To learn what wouldn't last.

Back to the house where I was raised,

A well-remembered place.

It seemed the same, but as I neared

The tears ran down my face.

I'd hoped to see my parents,

At least in memories eye,

But hopes of this diminished

And the memories passed on by.

My brothers and my sisters

Were not there to ask me in.

There was little to remind me

Of the way that things had been.

There was little left of memories

In this tumbled bit of wood.

Of the life I knew, and people, too,

That made my life so good.

But it caused me to remember

What another poet penned;

"The one place you cannot go,

You can't go home again."