By Hal Walter After the driest spell in recent memory, the rains came pitter-pattering on the leaves of thirsty plants, splattering upon the dusty ground and at last creating a steady pouring sound as the water streamed from the roof splashing into the flower beds. I’d just finished a long period of “work” which mostly involved wrangling words for money, but also writing various elegies for my mother-in-law Rosemary, who’d died July 10 at the age of 98. She’d lived a colorful and lengthy life, serving as a dietitian on a troopship in World War II, learning to pilot a ...