Reinke Faces Life

http://www.thenewstribune.com/2011/03/30/v-lite/1605041/near-record-sierra-snow-good-news.html

This picture triggered a memory from the mid to late Seventies.

I had an AT&T training mission to San Francisco. She took the time to go with me. I planned the flights to give us a long weekend in Reno. She was excited because we’d never been there before. Side trips to Virginia City and Tahoe. Fly back Tuesday afternoon not red eye; in at 1AM. I had work Wednesday.

Go! Flight out, great. San Fran, great. (But too many Dungeness Crabs fmpov!) She had a ball.

Mission complete. Checkout. Pack unlimited mileage Hertz. Up route 80 to Reno. Thru the Donner Pass. Discussion of the Donner Party. Notice the GIGANTIC snow rods on the roadside. Twice the height of the tractor trailers passing them. Automatic signs with the choices: road closed, 4 wheel drive only, chains required – all vehicles, chains required – trucks, chains recommended, caution, and clear. Made an impression on me. Those signs were new since the last time I drove the pass.

We checked into the hotel, played, and had a ball.

On Friday, I was watching the news. Weather forecasted snow starting Saturday at Noon. I make an executive decision: “Evacuate; Saturday morning.”

Needless to say, Our Girl was not pleased.

With her trademarked “prune face”, “Aren’t you over reacting?” I said: “I’ll take the car back down to Frisco. You can come down by bus or plane and I’ll meet you to go home. I can’t lose my job because of a little weather.” Maybe that scared her. Being alone in a strange city. She knew I’d never leave her unless the circumstances were exceptional. We were always joined at the hip. “Fine!!! we’ll go. What time Saturday?” “On the road by noon.” “Fine!!!” (Definitely not fine, but she was a trooper. No passive aggressive subtle sabotage. Decision was made; she saluted and carried on.) But, I don’t think we went to bed that night. As usual, she packed a lot of living into the time available.

But we were on the road about 11AM. Snow flakes were falling. Radio was reporting a bad storm was starting. I may have sped a little down 80. Hit the pass and the road sign was light “caution”. When we exited the pass about 30 minutes later, the sign was “chains required – all vehicles”. We cruised into San Fran, checked into an airport hotel for the Sat-Sun-Mon stay, dropped bags, and went for crabs. She was mollified. We went to a movie.

Returning to the hotel, the radio reported that the Donner Pass was closed for the next few days with more than 4 feet of snow.

She, in one of the few times I ever remember, says: “That was a good call.”

Treasured that. Didn’t happen too often. Those were few and far between. (Probably because there were few times one of us had to make a tough call and override the other. We always talked our way to consensus.)

I think the Gambling versus Dungeness Crabs tradeoff was a pretty even swap.

The Donner Pass reopened the follow Saturday.

Subsequently, whenever we did the “SanFran-Reno” dodge, she always say “Watch the weather.” I did, but we never had to pull the trigger like that.

Funny the stuff you remember.

# # # # #

They say that you are what you eat. I’d assert that you are what you sing.

Bear with me as I try to prove that assertion.

Now, folk singers, were, at that time, the modern equivalent of the troubadours of the Middle Ages. The words they sung had to be intelligible, unlike today. And, they would usually hit home and you’d attach to them. Invest them with a special meaning.

We were both Mitch Miller’s spiritual children. We both had different memories of the show. Her’s more special; mine less so. For her, it was family time. Although it was followed by the mandatory Gillete Friday Night Fights, which is probably the one time her Father, Jack, got to watch what he wanted. For my part, it was happy times since my maternal Grandmother loved the show, probably only second to Lawrence Welk.

My life had dragged me to the Red Garter, which was like Mitch Miller with beer and peanuts. I wandered into it somehow. It was down the street from the folk song’s spiritual home Gerdie’s Folk City. I was in the village because you could play chess for money, and modestly I was good enough to usually win. Especially if I could play Queen’s Gambit Declined; I had a PhD in that.

(Humorous aside, after my laying off Chess for decades, Luddite decided it was a good idea for us to play Chess. Remember he already had gotten from the Universe one lesson about “books and covers”; guess he needed another. Without thinking, I riffed off the first ten moves on QBD Exchange Positional. My absolute favorite if I could get to it; usually against those who never studied. He sent the message: ‘Wow, you have me stuffed.’ If he only knew how many people I inflicted that on to earn a profit. I told him I had once upon been rated. Not that he knew what that meant. But I did. At that time, I was smart and knew my limitations. And moved on to Gerdie’s. It’s in my book)

So I spent a lot of time in Gerdie’s. Did you know Beth Middler was frequenter? SO I saw this gorgeous blond take the stage and sing ‘Suzzane’. Old then, she had a beautiful voice. Wasn’t hard on the eyes either.

(There was some debate was who had the better single voice: Streisand, Lady Kazan, Beth Middler, or Judy Collins. The marketplace decided it was “barbara streisand”; I’m not so sure of that. Not that I was a qualified voice judge. I knew what I liked.)

So I attached to Suzzane as I dated. I was looking for that girl who would understand one weird fat “old” white guy injineer.

For some reason, Gerdie’s was closed one night. (Fire?) So I moved down to the Red Garter. It was “lively”. The next week, I brought some fellow injineers. It became our hang out.

(Little did I know Our Girl was there. Ships passing in the night. Unseen. For some reason, maybe the Universe had a “cloaking device”. Used it say, “all in due time, children, due time”. I know I would have noticed a hottie like her with a bevy of gal pals. Either my radar was off or that cloaking device was effective. It later turned out she knew all of my friends.)

So during this time, I was working the 4-12 at AT&T on Varick Street. In my section, I listened to a lot of Judy, PP&M, and a bunch of others.

Waiting for “the fullness of time”.

Our second date was at the Red Garter. And, I was hooked. After that, we also would hit Gerdie’s. Fridays at the Garter; Saturday’s Gerdie’s; Sunday’s at Feeney & Addie’s — pizza, beer, and music — in Bayonne (She had early curfew on Sundays).

Any place with music. She loved it as much as life. Her Mom had yelled her about grades with: “If you knew your lessons, as well as you do those songs, …”

We treked to concerts that were great and reflected our rapidly merging tastes: Dylan, Ray Charles, Kingston Trio, Pete Seger, Phil Ochs, Richie Havens, Burl Ives, Joan Baez, Cher, Simon & Garfunkel, just to name the ones I can think of. (I should have saved ticket stubs like Pattie Fife did.) Eventually, it became best represented by PP&M.

In the period after that refused July proposal, “don’t think twice” became the theme song and she’d say: “It’s just too soon. Keep trying. Maybe you’ll get lucky.” It was on the radio. So I had no control over it, but it seemed it got played a lot. We’d laugh that I had PAYOLAed the radio station to play it for our dated. Wish I could have.

But, determined to “win fair maiden’s hand”, I played “follow me” a lot. She’d always say: “That’s not going to work.” But she’d sing along. “For Bobby” would get the response “It would be nice to have a partner and children”. Psych warfare.

Well about 18 February 68, psych war won out.

(It was a Saturday afternoon. I came to pick her up for the obligatory Saturday night date. We weren’t pinned or steadies or any of that, but she did have my MC ring. I don’t know why the apartment was empty. But it was.)

A month before, it was the grades that finally won her over — an A (Yup, one of TWO I had in college), four Bs, five Cs. (No D’s, unheard of.) For a 2.6. She was pleased but was worried about the last semester and if I really would graduate. She was a witch about the details before she’d say yes.

So, I said “Before we go I have something to show you.” I had written a computer program and printed out all my grades and the calculations that demonstrated that in my last semester, if a I just showed up and passed — C’s in majors; D’s in minors, I would graduate. Final index 2.010308! In June 1968. I had Dean Somebody’s signature note “Yes, I agree you’ll graduate. I’m surprised, but you’ll make. This girl, Evlynn, has had a positive impact on you.” (She knew the Deans from the Engineers’ Balls. It was an obligatory howdy. But she’d remember the names. Funny, they remembered her too. And, spelled her name right too! Maybe that’s what it takes to be a “dean”.)

(Yes, I actually hit that “high point” on the nose. Never do too much to get over the bar. No matter how low. Just over by a smidgen. On a technical note. It was NOT possible to get a lower index and still graduate.)

Although, I confessed to her that I was realy worried. She drew in real close and got real serious: “What’s the matter?” With as doleful a look as I could muster, “I may not win the anchor pool and I won’t be able to afford to get married.” She slapped me across my face — hard, exclaiming “You are a clown!”, and then laughed herself sick about how I had sucked her in. When she calmed herself down, she went to the ladies room, and freshened her face from the tears. When she returned, I said “So, I guess it’s official now, we can get married? We’ve satisfied the Moms.” She said very quietly: “Yes”.

(For those of you worried about the “anchor pool”, I won it. Over $900. Intended for the poor soul who barely graduated and would have a hard time finding a job. Yup, that was me. “Poor Soul”. Oh, btw, I also had the highest starting salary in the class. A fact that made Dean What’s His Name shake his head. AT&T promoted me to shift supervisor when I notified them that February I’d fulfilled the requirements for graduation. Upon graduation, and giving them a copy of my diploma, I was again promoted to Programming Supervisor. I was already one of their best programmers in the Treasury Operations Division. Programmers were as scarce as hen’s teeth. They gave me a programmer’s class date. Had to be retrained the Bell System way. But, that had to be deferred until after the USAF. Needless to say we were rolling in dough. At least, I thought so until I hit Wall Street. All through our lives, we used to say “Computers have been very very good to me.”)

At that point, our music taste changed: “blowin in the wind” and “cruel war” became our theme songs.

Graduation, extra courses, the summer of 69, draft, formal engagement, enlistment, and it was all a blur.

In the lead up to 01 February 70, “leaving on jet plane” became our theme.

Things worked out, and 19 December 70, our theme changed again “hawaiian love song”

On the trips to and from Washington, Cher’s “i got you babe” echoed along with “we ain’t got a barrel of money”.

(Air Force pay was shitty. Her brother did our income tax and would laugh wickedly as he’d give me the forms to sign. I’d say: “Laugh now; this too shall pass.” Boy, how she worried about money then.)

Our Girl was the music of my life.

Now the song is “Nothing Lasts Forever” by Judy Collins

*** begin quote ***

Nothing lasts forever you should know that by now Good times, Heartache You’ll get through this trouble though you may not know how Your heart won’t break If you have a vision of your destiny Tears can’t stop you Hidden in your heart is everything you can be You’ll be fine Nothin’ lasts forever, Nothin lasts forever, Nothin lasts forever

*** end quote ***

Yes, you are what you sing. Especially when you have Our Girl as your partner.

# # # # #

Our Girl had been working at Weldotron for awhile. The 401k became a hot item for retirement planning. One of the honchos at Weldotron decided they’d convert from a defined benefit plan to a define contribution plan. Our Girl was not happy. As a Bell System girl, she knew that pensions were important not to be on dog food in your old age. She knew several retirees who had Bell System pensions and some that didn’t. So working on Wall Street, I told her I’d look into the options, but given the stiff penalties for screwing around with pensions I was confident it was on the up and up.

So the number crunchers went to work. Inventoried everyone who was a participant. Did the age adjusted distribution. Then the you know what hit the fan.

(In a surprising fit pique, Our Girl was upset. One of the women lied about her age when she was employed. So, the woman was three years older than the woman told everyone. Thus, was then entitled to more. When the list was produced, Our Girl, who was younger and worked for them longer, got much less than the “liar”. “The woman should be fired for lying.” No matter who explained, including me, or how many times it was explained, she just refused to accept it. Based on an age adjusted calculation, all employees shared “equally”.)

(Boy, was she pig headed! She ranted on that for years.)

So, then the new plan was “turned on”. I told her that now she had the right to make additional after-tax contributions to her 401k account. She wasn’t to sure about it since NO ONE else was doing it. But, I urged her to do it. (She was still saving in her passbook savings account at this point. Although not too long after this, she went to a money market account.) She went to HR, who went to various honchos, who went to the plan attorney, who went to the plan operator. Once Our Girl was onto something, she was unstoppable. Eventually it was opined that she could contribute proportionally up until the plan hit the “highly compensated executives” limit. Since no one else was doing it, she could essentially put in as much as she wanted. (Even two CPAs didn’t know this, but she did. Thanks to the head of 401k plans at Shearson.)

So, spin the VCR up a decade or a decade and a half, Weldotron was spinning the bowl. And, the 401k has to be shut down. Everyone has to identify where they want to roll it over to. No big deal.

Then about two weeks later, Our Girl gets the mail and finds me grousing how the 401k plan screwed up. “The fools sent me a check.” I looked at it and said: “It says post tax contribution. It’s yours.” “No, it’s wrong.” “OK, call them”.

(She calls. Long conversation.)

She calls to me in tears. (You know “my dog died” level of crying.) I asked: “What’s wrong?” I literally had no idea what could possibly be wrong.

“It’s mine. I can’t take it. It’s too much money. How could that be?”

I explain compound returns during a hot market over decades!

“What will I do?”

“Whatever you want, hon. It’s yours.”

“Let’s give ⅓ away. Save a ⅓. And go to Vegas with the rest.”

So that’s what she did. It was a great trip! But we didn’t spend anywhere near a ⅓. It was a BIG check.

(It was very cute. Guess you really had to be there.)

# # # # #

Ev would have been tickled to see this picture. I’d have given anything if she could have seen the twins’ reaction to it. She’d have probably wanted it bigger. :-) You know, nock your socks off bigger. ROFL!

# – # – # – # – # 2011-Apr-01 @ 21:37

Update: I’m told that the twins love it. That would make Our Girl happy. All she wanted was for children to be happy and have their wildest dreams. Guess it was her “early poverty” experience speaking.

# – # – # – # – # 2011-Apr-03 @ 08:32

1967-09-XX Sexy IH Scout

April 1, 2011

I went on a long planned trip to Oregon / Reno / LV / AZ shortly after our second date. If the trip had happened before Ev, who knows if I’d have even come home. I loved the West. She teased me about the Scout, saying “it was one of a kind”, and that “You bought the only one.” When we hit the ground in AZ, I found its “sister”. A photo-ed it to prove it. Why she saved this picture, beats me? Maybe it was the rugged outdoors image of Little Johnie Reinke that she found irresistible? Must have meant something for her to save it. Didn’t girls judge boys by the car they drove? Guess this drove her wild! LOL!!

# # # # #

> Marge says you need to rescan the evy articles…you tried to cram them all on one page and you can’t
> read some of them. Then we can print out here and read!

Don’t have originals. I’ll have to see what I can do with what I got. I read one under a magnifying glass and she scored 15 of the team 30 points. That sounds like Ev.

She told me once about her first game for HFA. As a freshman, she started. And for the first few minutes she just passed the ball to the seniors. Her coach pulled her out and she sat on the bench for a few minutes. Coach Mac then asked her: “You like being on the bench?” “No.” “If I put you back in, will you shoot?” “Yes.” Went back in at the half and scored 17. I believed her.

I’ll have to see if I can find her clippings. I know she had some. Shoulda grabbed them when I saw them. I bet she tossed them as “embarrassing”.

# – # – #

Our Girl told me another story. That I confirmed during one of the few times I met Coach Mac.

It seems that, at Holy Family Academy, some of the teams they played were somewhere between inept and clueless. She never understood why up by 30 against a team that couldn’t score, Coach Mac kept her and the other starters in the game.

(As the fellow, whom she taught everything he knows about basketball, I understand there are several reasons for doing this. You can’t turn your offense on and off. You have to motivate your bench to work harder, get better, and EARN playing time. It’s a game of momentum and runs. Just because you are beating the pants off someone, doesn’t mean that the basketball gods don’t teach you a lesson in humility. And, if an opponent has a glimmer of hope and thinks they can win, then they can.)

She used to say: “Never understood running up the score. Never understood not letting everyone play. I used to try extra hard thinking that if we had a big enough lead, she <Coach Mac> would put the other kids in. In my junior year, when I was feeling my oats, I asked her. She told me gruffly: “I’ll coach; you play.” But she did relent and put in the subs a few minutes later. And even though I hated to sit the bench, I cheered extra hard for the subs.”

Her gal pals were shocked that she said anything to the Coach. No one had ever done that.

That’s Our Girl, fearless. And even at that age, worried about how others felt.

# – # – #

No wonder her grammar school girls teams loved to play for her. She was in it for them and only them.

And, when she had her dream 28-1 team, she never ran up the score. A lesson she learned from HFA.

And, if the flu wasn’t rampant that one Sunday — her two #1 guards, both excellent, were out completely and her #2 guard (the one that shoots) was shaky but had to move to #1 duty, she’d have been perfect. That didn’t bother her; she was just thrilled for “her girls” that they could experience the joy of a great team.

(Her team was so good that year, the league officials wanted to throw her out of the league. Good Catholic gentlemen! All the other coaches and league officials were men; Our Girl was the only woman. Probably couldn’t stand the thought of being beaten by a girl. What could she know! Our girl was upset but too nice to call them on it. … … … However, this was a job for “Grumpy Nasty Fat Young Injineer”. Me! Don’t mess with my wife! I spoke up and threatened to take it to the bishop, the various pastors of their respective churches, and the newspapers. They backed off. They didn’t like it, but there was no more talk of ejecting her team because they were “too good”. I may have even use a few nautical terms in convincing them.)

(She had a friendly rivalry with the coach of the nearby Saint Matthias. He was a star in high school and played college. Not great, but good. He had visions of being a great coach. And I think secretly coaching college. So, Our Girl’s team usually played a 2-2-1 press and a 2-3 zone with a man2man every once in a while to mix it up. During the game, if she yelled “mix it up”, then the girls would play the “mix it up” defense. She knew that this rival coach was after her scalp. So the week before the game, she started the first practice of the with: “OK, how would you girls like to learn something new?” This group was a dream because they were hooked from the word “like”. She taught them a 2-1-2 press and a 3-2 zone with a 1-3-1 zone as the mix up. And instead of yelling “PRESS” or “MIX IT UP”, for that week the words were “BOYS” and “GIRLS”. She floored him. His kids virtually couldn’t get the ball up until the second half. At half time, he adjusted. So did she; she went back to the old tactics. Our Girl was no fool. If he could adjust at half time, so could she. After the game, he came over and gave her a big hug and kiss. “Thanks for not running up the score. You really beat me badly. I was ready for your old team and was stunned that you had a new team.” She grinned and said “Nothing but my best effort for you. It was fun. And, I’d never run up the score. Doesn’t teach kids anything.” And, she laughed about it for months.)

Boy, I miss her, her drive, and that laugh. An Irish Vixen. Although when crossed, she could morph into another word for a female. But, she NEVER had a harsh word for any child. Even girls, who played for her, and played badly or didn’t try, would get encouragement. More than once during a game, I’ve seen her call time out, leave the team with her assistants (Tom and I), and go speak to a father about, as she put it, “encouragement; not criticism”. Fearless protecting “her girls”. Fathers never crossed her lines twice. Would have been interesting to see. While she never usually ever said a bad word, I know she knew them. (Addressed them to me from time to time, when I had some fool idea or did something dumb.) She always was a lady. A fierce competitor. And a real true feminist. Her girls were “winners” to her, even if they lost every game.

Yup, I miss her.

# – # – #

After HFA, she played semi-pro with Coach Mac, in the Bayonne Beer Leagues. I can’t imagine two more fierce competitors. It was during this that she picked up the nickname “elbows”. (Which my Uncle Big John some how found out. I never knew that until he told me. She was in awe of him for being a Golden Glove Champ. So maybe she shared stuff with him. Champ to Champ.) I understand that not only was there some “renumeration for playing”, but there were also “bonuses for winning” depending upon how much the sponsoring bar won. “I’m shocked, shocked to find that gambling is going on in here!” Captain Renault in Casablanca. Me too. Shocking. A fine upstanding young Catholic woman being sponsored and “kept” by a establishment focused on drinking and gambling.

I married her to get her away from all of that sin and bad influences.

(She would have had to quit anyway. Quad leg separations two weeks before our wedding. Doc told her “to wheelchair down the aisle”; she said “wanna bet”. Come to think of it, she had an early start make fools out of docs who predicted things about her.)

I wonder what could have been. If she’d been born two decades later? Or, if she had had the money for college? We’ll never know. But if wither of those had happened, I’d have missed the best 43 years possible in my life.

I know I miss her now. Even sick as she was, she could still make me laugh.

# # # # #

Update: I’ve been corrected it was FIVE weeks before her wedding.

# – # – # – # – # 2011-May-26 @ 11:43

RECEIVED FROM NIECE-IN-LAW (Of whom the State of New Jersey say is no longer related for inheritance tax purposes)

My neighbor sent me a note today- she has been here for many parties- and remembers Auntie Ev fondly. Wanted to share it with you. She wrote:

Dear Megan,

The joy you and your family gave your Aunt was obvious. I can picture her arriving at your house and scanning the activity taking place. As she discovered the where-abouts of each of your children her face would light up. It didn’t seem possible, but as each of your children acknowledged her presence her face brightened even more. Whether their greeting was a distant wave, a hug, or showing or telling your aunt some news, she was delighted by the interaction. I am sure you have many memories of your Aunt to treasure. I am glad I have this one.

Sincerely,
XXX

# – # – #

Thanks. Nice to know that it was seen by even strangers.

# – # – # – # – # 2011-Mar-28 @ 13:27

Our Girl was always great with my family. Sometimes I though that they loved her more and I was the tolerated in-law. She always went out of her way to accommodate them; even when it was clearly unreasonable. Mowing Grandma’s lawn even though it meant she had to drive the slow riding lawn mower around the block once a week in the hot sun with the dog on a leash for Grandpa. “Meals on wheels” for my Mom. And, doing all the things that needed to be done that needed a woman’s touch. All without complaining.

One reason that Grandma and Grandpa loved her was that, as sound as she realized they were both deaf as stones, she “spoke” to them at the top of her lungs. She used her “basketball court voice” that she developed coaching. When she called a play, teams in the next county were trying to run it. She’d often come home horse and I’d have a headache. But they loved her visits.

So, we’re on one of our road trips in New England. Our Girl pipes up, as were coming down 95, “Let’s swing up Route 7 and visit your Aunt Marion.” Huh? I barely knew that she knew that I had an Aunt. Guess my look said it all. “Grandma was worried so I told her we’d check on her. And, I called Aunt Marion and said we might be by.” Guess it slipped her mind to mention it to me, or maybe she didn’t want to deal with my reaction. It really wasn’t that big a deal. Turn left at Route 7 and three hours or so of more driving, and we’re at Aunt’s house.

We visit. Now Aunt Marion and Grandma were sisters that look alike, dress alike, and sound alike. Our Girl carries on a conversation with Aunt about all sorts of things. With her “coach voice”. Eventually Aunt goes to the WC. I say sotto voce “Ev, it’s Aunt Marion, not Grandma. Aunt’s hearing is perfect.” She looked like she’d kissed a frog, or a fat old white guy injineer.

Aunt comes back and Ev apologizes profusely. Aunt generously says: “That’s fine child. I knew what you were doing. When I talk to Sister, I have a sore throat after. She’s really vain about the hearing aids Micky bought her.” Ev was red. But by the end of the trip, she was laughing about it. We had to go directly to Grandma’s, despite the hour, so Ev could report in. I suggested we do it the next morning because it was so late. Our Girl vetoed that with her trademark scowl. So we went.

She was right! Grandma was sitting up alone in the middle of the night waiting for Our Girl’s report. They sat and chatted and Ev gave her all the details. We got home when the Sun was coming up.

Maybe that’s why I love her? She was a kind soul that would go out of her way to reassure a pair of Sisters to whom she had no real obligation to. And, she even tolerated me going along. Not that I had a choice. It was always her way. And, that way usually turned out to be right in so many ways.

She made the world a better place and me a better person. And, I miss her more each day.   

# # # # #

MEMORIES: Went down the shore, but …

… It’s just not the same.

On the way down, I didn’t listen to the political shows. Like you tolerated. When you were having those bad days, I put the oldies. I know you were back going to the shore with your gal pals many decades ago. I didn’t want to disturb the happy illusion. Even when you sang the ”Bayonne” lyrics to Petula Clark’s Downtown. That’s how I knew where and when you were.

It was your kind of day. Cold. Street breeze. Tiny waves, sorry.

Parked by the house. Test the size of the posters. Yeah, you’d be suitably embarrassed. They are large. I’ll need H’s help to put them up correctly. Have to behind the faux frame. They should last eons. Much to your chagrin.

Some tourists taking their pics in front of the Jersey Shore house. What rubes! To worship at a shrine to what?

Left the car by the house, walked to Casino Pier, for the exercise, played poker. In those dumb machines.

I was going to have fries if I lost. And lunch if you won. Just like we always did. Cheapest beer if I had to pay. Top shelf if it was on you. … All to hear you pseudo whine “sure when I’m buying, nothing but the best”. Ahh the games we used to play.

But the casino pier manageress broke the spell and asked where you were, looking around for you. What could I do but tell her?

I just finished and left. Unable to complete the mission.

But Jimbo’s was still closed for the season. Any way.

So I went to Klee’s but it’s just not the same.

Maybe it just too soon?

Can’t even think of a good “Church” quote to cover it!

Argh!

# # # # #

Song lyric when I was driving down: “And what am I gonna do when the best part of me was always you.”

# # # # #

John,

I just wanted to offer you my deepest sympathies and condolences at this time. I’ve not seen this sooner otherwise I would have replied earlier.

I’ll always have very fond memories and even though we only met and knew each other for a short time, I will certainly always remember the way she welcomed me into her home and life.

With sympathy,
Matt

# – # – # – # – # 2011-Mar-26 @ 07:58