Funeral and legacy guitar
Michael's funeral was Wednesday. I consider myself to be a passionate person. While I am aware of and cherish my emotions, I tend to not allow them to dictate, or even influence, my behavior. Too often, emotional behavior just leads to bad blood. I suppose I come off as cold to some, but those who really know me know that I'm not because I am free to discuss my passions...in controlled, metered tone. Still, it is somehow a relief to weep with family and friends at such things.
I saw a great many friends I don't see often, some I haven't seen in over 20 years. Doug came out to both the viewing and funeral. Doug was one of my closest childhood friends, starting around 34-35 years ago. While we write with fair frequency, we didn't really see much of each other since high school. I went off to college 21 years ago; 20 years ago, Doug went off to the Air Force. Doug rejoined the Army Reserve after the terrorist attacks in NYC. He installed air strips in the Iraqi desert, actively dodging enemy fire. As you might expect, he lost friends there. He is to be sent on another overseas tour in the coming year. At the funeral, nothing broke me up more than seeing Doug, a hardened warrior in a very real sense, openly and very physically sobbing. I wept with Doug and for our mutual loss.
I also don't...didn't often see Michael since leaving home; we were very different people with very different interests. However, he did visit my family in late June to offer Wee Gene birthday greetings. We took Michael to a local restaurant and had a great time. I believe the fact that we so recently had such a nice visit mitigated potentially greater pain by removing some degree of remorse I might have felt otherwise.
On the accident, I learned Michael's helmet was not on him when he was found, but it appears as though he was wearing it and it was ripped from his head by the accident (his trachea was damaged and the helmet's chin strap was greatly distorted). An anonymous 911 call reported the accident only three minutes after Michael had left work Saturday morning. There is some suspicion that an inattentive driver ran him off the road at the intersection where the accident occurred, may have felt a small pang of guilt at leaving the scene, and called it in.
Back to the office today and a staff meeting at Old Woman Creek National Estuarine Research Reserve tomorrow...and, of course, both wedding gig and guitar meeting Saturday...and perhaps a paddle Sunday.
When I got to the office, I discovered my jazz box had been delivered there after returning from the shop. I inherited the guitar from my grandfather. As a teen, Grandpa played a cheap Kay. As cheap Kays of the depression did during the depression, his imploded under string tension. Grandpa saved and, at 18, went out and bought this guitar brand new, a delicious 1935 Gibson L-4 with "Nick Lucas" inlays; it was his primary throughout the rest of his life. Even though it's rare for me to play the kind of swing to which it's best suited, I'm honored to own it.
...And goodbye, Michael.
I saw a great many friends I don't see often, some I haven't seen in over 20 years. Doug came out to both the viewing and funeral. Doug was one of my closest childhood friends, starting around 34-35 years ago. While we write with fair frequency, we didn't really see much of each other since high school. I went off to college 21 years ago; 20 years ago, Doug went off to the Air Force. Doug rejoined the Army Reserve after the terrorist attacks in NYC. He installed air strips in the Iraqi desert, actively dodging enemy fire. As you might expect, he lost friends there. He is to be sent on another overseas tour in the coming year. At the funeral, nothing broke me up more than seeing Doug, a hardened warrior in a very real sense, openly and very physically sobbing. I wept with Doug and for our mutual loss.
I also don't...didn't often see Michael since leaving home; we were very different people with very different interests. However, he did visit my family in late June to offer Wee Gene birthday greetings. We took Michael to a local restaurant and had a great time. I believe the fact that we so recently had such a nice visit mitigated potentially greater pain by removing some degree of remorse I might have felt otherwise.
On the accident, I learned Michael's helmet was not on him when he was found, but it appears as though he was wearing it and it was ripped from his head by the accident (his trachea was damaged and the helmet's chin strap was greatly distorted). An anonymous 911 call reported the accident only three minutes after Michael had left work Saturday morning. There is some suspicion that an inattentive driver ran him off the road at the intersection where the accident occurred, may have felt a small pang of guilt at leaving the scene, and called it in.
Back to the office today and a staff meeting at Old Woman Creek National Estuarine Research Reserve tomorrow...and, of course, both wedding gig and guitar meeting Saturday...and perhaps a paddle Sunday.
When I got to the office, I discovered my jazz box had been delivered there after returning from the shop. I inherited the guitar from my grandfather. As a teen, Grandpa played a cheap Kay. As cheap Kays of the depression did during the depression, his imploded under string tension. Grandpa saved and, at 18, went out and bought this guitar brand new, a delicious 1935 Gibson L-4 with "Nick Lucas" inlays; it was his primary throughout the rest of his life. Even though it's rare for me to play the kind of swing to which it's best suited, I'm honored to own it.
...And goodbye, Michael.