The digs…

Computer on the fritz, nonetheless, cleaned the ‘office’ area at home. In doing so, ran across some pics of beloved ones – and now they ‘stare’ and smile at me every day.

This is personal, so I completely understand if you turn left here. No hard feelings, and apologies if it’s a bore.

My sister. Vibrant. Brilliant. Sure, biased, but others agreed. Born 1947, taken from this world in 1999.

She lived smiling. She smiled living. Infectious.

She had the uncanny knack to respond immediately to whatever was said in a way that was graceful, sometimes very humorous, and certainly uplifting.

She’d give reviews to her employees.. notate some things that needed attention, and then pat on the back about 9 others things the employee had done for the benefit of the company. They’d walk out “HECK YEAH!.. I’m GOOD.. and I’m gonna be BETTER!”..

She was the cog to our family. You’d feel honored just to be in her presence, and she’d quickly have that turned around to where she’d announce just the opposite.. “I’m sooo lucky to have you as a brother.”.. Good. She was good. Very good.

My mother. A writer. She worked for the small Liberal Arts college I attended, and wrote the weekly “Colleague”.. a diddy for coworkers… she spiced it with humor, sayings, and uplifted those she wrote about.

My mother demonstrated and believe in societal/legal “the right way”… I can still hear the voice on the other enda the phone call… “How’s my Victor!”… Father traveled, she was there to play catch or setup plastic army guys. To counsel. To encourage. To open the door communication-wise to let me figure things out myself.

My mother had a massive stroke in her fifties, and expired at the age of 67. Smart. Pretty. Real. Good. Ya couldn’t ask for a better mom.

Father. “Learnt” me, thru demonstrated behavior, that discrimination was wrong. He’d befriend anyone, everyone, and never talk down to, or up to anyone. He’d go from a talk with a local minister, to sharing a beer with the guy who picked up our trash.

He lived with a pep in his step. We were never without, but our lifestyle wasn’t lavish either. He was very simply happy in life.

He loved to go “fishing”, but not with rod and reel. He’d start a story, continue on and on (and on).. you’d be entranced… not believing.. then believing.. and he’d end it some ten minutes later with the pun he’d spent all that time working up to. You were left not knowing whether to smack him (with a smile) or pee your pants in laughter. He always got the best of you, but in a fun, fun way.

When his wife, my mother, had her stroke – he quit traveling. Bought D tags. Sold cars from the driveway. Additionally he cooked, cleaned house, took on all the sets of chores. Was he pissed? Had life been cruel? Hardly. He'd sing Mack the Knife as he cooked. He’d vacuum, maybe have a martini.. then clean the kitchen inbetween loads of laundry. He made good outta unfortunate.

His heart gave out in 2003.

“Don’t make us out to be martyrs” they’d say. And I’m not. Just damn good people. It’s my hope there’s a little of each in me. October 13, 1952, God put me in the perfect home. I am so very thankful for that – and selfishly I wish I’d had more time with each – but what we had was wonderful. And I know I was lucky.

I hope you have wonderful memories of your family – and if they’re still around for goodness sakes hug ‘em and love ‘em for that day does eventually happen to us all.

I often say (from what movie I don’t remember) “I’m the baby, gotta love me.” In this case, or in life’s case, that’s not a have to for all. Again, I’m so very lucky they chose to love me, and the feelings were/are mutual. Love, Victurd