Site icon Margaret Coombs

Funny How It Happens

So yesterday I wrote a post about how I don’t drink. Later that day, we arrived home from our walk and found a bottle-shaped box on the porch. Yes, someone sent us a bottle of wine. Turnbull wine, to be precise. There are preparations for a family get-together via zoom that may fulfill all the yearnings I expressed in that post. 

It is a memorial for Bob’s brother J. Michael Turnbull, who was the best man at our wedding. 

I am still raw from attending a funeral service for a 24-year-old this morning, Deena Giriyappa, a beloved light in our church family, so I will leave these thoughts for now.  

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