A few memories:
- A kite made of wood and paper that didn't fly.
- Driving too slowly down the middle of a two-lane road, listening to WCLV, never using a turn signal.
- Teaching a young child what "analytical thinking" means.
- A perfectionist at the grill.
- Knowing the perfect way to brew a cup of tea and then using the shittiest blends available.
- Indulging his wife in so many ways while quietly subverting her.
- Joyfully buying cheap crap from dollar stores and then giving it away.
- Buying desserts because they looked good, but giving them to others because they were "too rich."
- Never going near cinnamon, a relic of the Great Depression and rice pudding.
- Endless terrible email forwards.
- A craftsman's admiration of art.
- Adoration of his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, even when they drove him crazy.
- Having a "guy" for everything.
Our last conversation was mostly about how much he wanted to come up here and visit us, talk about work, talk about the kids, and talk about how much fun he was having with his girlfriend. I told him that my chief concern was that he was taking care of himself and he was touched by that and, of course, wanted to pass along his love to the kids. It was a very typical conversation for us, and nothing was missing.
