(no subject)
So once again, a considerably long time has passed since I've posted. I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I'd thought about deleting this journal, but there's so many memories here that I'd probably never do it. There's just too much history, too many experiences with people I no longer talk to. Leaving this be means that there's physical evidence that they existed and that I shared something with them, so here it stands.
Anyway, that's not what I wanted to write about. I probably won't write about what I wanted to write about, actually.
My uncle, Jay Barry, passed away last Thursday. He was a Vietnam Veteran. I didn't know much else about him, to be honest. He smoked a lot and he drank a lot, and my clearest memories of him were of him sitting in a recliner in front of his family's big screen television, an ashtray on the little stand next to him, smoke curling up towards the ceiling, and a few beer cans (always more than one) on the ground beside him. I suppose this is not the most flattering picture of him, but as far as I know, he was just a man of simple pleasures. I never heard about him beating his wife or his kids, and he was always a friendly guy. He got up and went to work every day.
His wake is supposed to be this Wednesday, and the funeral proper will be on Thursday. He's going to be buried in a military cemetary; he'll have a twenty-one gun salute, and a guy playing Taps, and everything.
That's all that needs to be said, for now. I suppose the other things can wait, if they need to be said at all.
Anyway, that's not what I wanted to write about. I probably won't write about what I wanted to write about, actually.
My uncle, Jay Barry, passed away last Thursday. He was a Vietnam Veteran. I didn't know much else about him, to be honest. He smoked a lot and he drank a lot, and my clearest memories of him were of him sitting in a recliner in front of his family's big screen television, an ashtray on the little stand next to him, smoke curling up towards the ceiling, and a few beer cans (always more than one) on the ground beside him. I suppose this is not the most flattering picture of him, but as far as I know, he was just a man of simple pleasures. I never heard about him beating his wife or his kids, and he was always a friendly guy. He got up and went to work every day.
His wake is supposed to be this Wednesday, and the funeral proper will be on Thursday. He's going to be buried in a military cemetary; he'll have a twenty-one gun salute, and a guy playing Taps, and everything.
That's all that needs to be said, for now. I suppose the other things can wait, if they need to be said at all.