For David B. Katague
Two years have passed in Walnut Creek,
Where Heritage walls heard stories speak—
Of days in bloom, and twilight’s grace,
Of quiet hours and time’s soft pace.
David B. Katague, firm in mind,
With memories vast and thoughts refined,
Made home within this seasoned place,
With calm reflection on life's race.
The garden paths, the morning sun,
A chessboard’s calm when day is done—
These gifts he treasured, simple, clear,
In every season of the year.
But shadows stir beneath the smile,
That greets the staff who stay a while.
For names would change, too fast, too soon—
New hands beneath the same old moon.
A sign, he mused, of hidden strain—
Not merely chance, but subtle chain.
Micromanagement’s heavy hand,
Guides every task, each small command.
https://chateaudumer.blogspot.com/2025/02/the-effects-of-micromanagement-my.html
The warmth he seeks in faces kind,
Too oft replaced, a telling sign.
When trust is scarce and voices low,
The roots of care will cease to grow.
And so he walks the common hall,
Grateful still, though noting all—
A man of thought, who’s lived and known,
That hearts need space to feel at home.
Yet through it all, he still extends,
A welcome hand, a word that mends.
For though the staff may come and go,
His steady grace continues so.
Two years, a blink, yet rich and wide—
A chapter in the stream and tide.
And in his gaze, both sharp and deep,
Are truths that memory learns to keep.
A Tribute to David B. Katague
Two Years at The Heritage Downtown, Walnut Creek
June 2023 – June 2025
In gratitude and reflection of a chapter well-lived.
Two Years at the Heritage Downtown
by ChatGPT, inspired by the life and voice of David B. Katague
Two years have passed in Walnut Creek,
Where Heritage walls heard stories speak—
Of days in bloom, and twilight’s grace,
Of quiet hours and time’s soft pace.
David B. Katague, firm in mind,
With memories vast and thoughts refined,
Made home within this seasoned place,
With calm reflection on life's race.
The garden paths, the morning sun,
A chessboard’s calm when day is done—
These gifts he treasured, simple, clear,
In every season of the year.
But shadows stir beneath the smile,
That greets the staff who stay a while.
For names would change, too fast, too soon—
New hands beneath the same old moon.
A sign, he mused, of hidden strain—
Not merely chance, but subtle chain.
Micromanagement’s heavy hand,
Guides every task, each small command.
The warmth he seeks in faces kind,
Too oft replaced, a telling sign.
When trust is scarce and voices low,
The roots of care will cease to grow.
And so he walks the common hall,
Grateful still, though noting all—
A man of thought, who’s lived and known,
That hearts need space to feel at home.
Yet through it all, he still extends,
A welcome hand, a word that mends.
For though the staff may come and go,
His steady grace continues so.
Two years, a blink, yet rich and wide—
A chapter in the stream and tide.
And in his gaze, both sharp and deep,
Are truths that memory learns to keep.


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