To My Warrior Friends and Mates: Gone from Here, Not Forgotten Pt. IV

1) Kelly C.  2) Scott C. 3) Robert P. 4) Jeremy H. 5) Scott H. 6) Ben S. 6) LT M. 7) Rob N. 8) Amarea W. 9) Paul F. 10) Max T. 11) Nicholas B.  12) Dave P. 13) Greg B.

    The last three. These warrior friends. There are others who have died (we all do or will), whom I have known, but most of them lived longer, more lived out lives. That is reason to cherish and celebrate them, those that made it to their 90s. Or 100. Or even 73, like my mom.

    In these pages I recall and celebrate, give tribute to those who have passed on. And left so many behind. Me, sometimes just a smaller part of their legacies. They who left us young, never achieving the wrinkles or age spots.

    Nicholas B. 

    He was a swell guy. He advanced in leadership in the Army National Guard, he was friendly, and helpful. Like a good Boy Scout. Not condescending there, just stating what the facts are. He was our top enlisted leader for a few years. He cut me some parental times to be a better dad, which I am forever grateful for.

    We got together the day after Martin Luther King Day to eulogize and celebrate him. It was a tender and bittersweet time. Many of us congregated to remember, reflect, be grateful. For life, friends, service. People like him. A keen warrior, a friendly warrior.

    He was a lot of things, mostly all good. A hole was left that will be hard to fill. Barely 40, if that. Part of the flag, I say. He deployed multiple times. He did his duties well.

    A U.S. Warrior. Intelligence and diligence.

        Dave P.

        Another Batchelor mate. He was short, not as short in 8th grade, but he was strong, muscular, had a dynamite soul and a kind heart. He died this last year or so from cancer. A successful life and participant from all I know. A dad, husband, worker. Everything most of us could ask for.

    My high school class website noted his passing. He made it to his fifties, as most of us have done. Of all the recounted lost warriors gone too soon, he is the eldest. Has his children, his life more less established. He made his mark. Not the others who came up shorter did not leave their indelible impressions and memories, but Dave at least lived long enough to prove what he had become, not just the getting there.

    Thanks, Dave, for getting there. Living a valiant and good life, from all accounts and stories.'

    Smiling, warm warrior. That is who I see.

    Gregory B.

    Whoa, my brother. My battle buddy, my soldier! I wrote some words in your website of memories last March. This year, 2024.

    I tried to write these from most distant to nearest. I have left out a few. 

    I am not slighting anyone else that I have known who has passed on, some of them too young.

    These baker's dozen are the ones that I wish to recount as the year runs out, this Friday night that I wind this down, the night before the shortest day of the year. These people all lived significant lives, and they all had significance to me and countless others.

    I got to be Greg's squad leader. I thought I did all right. Perhaps I was limited. I am sure that I have cried a few times for his loss. I met a young man last June who got to know Greg for a few months, and this guy loved Greg. Greg was a lovable, and sweet, and steady.

    I have shed a few tears for this big guy. He was about 6'4". He had his girlfriend in my unit, and I found out at his tragic passing that they were serious about each other. He died changing a tire while she was in the front seat. An illegal drunk driver without a license. Lives ruined.

    Yes, I think I have cried a few times for him and them. We were inspired by him, as I told the buddy in the kitchen at the fort. We felt it together. The love for Greg, his powerful presence. Understated, but strong. Thank you, Mr. Blowe. Yes, you recognized him. You recognized, did not ignore or shun, the greatness and sweetness in him, our brother.

    May heaven help us all to be so ready and righteous! No one is perfect, but there are some souls that seem that way.

        

    Yes, Greg, you were a powerful man. Only 30.

    _____

Final thoughts. 

    All of the people that I have known who died too young, from 15 to 52 or so, have had their lives shortened. Some of them took their own lives, which I will say is always tragic, no matter the age or circumstances. However, not that I am pro-suicide at all, but I must say that in most cases the people chose their final fate on earth. I hope and pray to see them in another life, I do not believe in heavy condemnation nor damnation for those that murder themselves, or even many others, cases depending. 

    It is tough when they go any way that they do, but when they are taken by accident like Greg, it leaves the soul wanting. It was an accident, perpetrated by a guy, maybe 24 years old, who was drunk, illegal... We say what a waste, what a shame.

    Waste and shame. The opposite of the totality of Gregory.

    And thus, we have it, those thirteen of my warrior friends. In four parts. They all gave, they all shared, they all left too soon.

    From Indiana, from maybe Pennsylvania or North Carolina, from Virginia. Americans, sons, daughters, husbands, soldiers, kids, imaginers, creators, dreamers, friends, competitors, inspirers.

    Heroes. Fighters. Souls to commune with in memory and towards the future.

    Scotty.

    Kelly.

    Bobby.

    Jeremy.

    Scott.

    Ben.

    Lieutenant.

    Rob.

    Amarea.

    Paul.

    Max.

    Nicholas.

    Dave.

    Gregory.

    We love you. I love you. We miss you. We wish the best for all your loved ones, who are many.

    We look forward to a future with you again, and to converse and laugh, reminisce and plan the next big thing.

    Everlasting life.

    

To My Warrior Friends and Mates: Gone from Here, Not Forgotten Part III

 

To My Warrior Friends and Mates: Gone from Here, Not Forgotten

1) Kelly C.  2) Scott C. 3) Robert P. 4) Jeremy H. 5) Scott H. 6) Ben S. 6) LT M. 7) Rob N. 8) Amarea W. 9) Paul F. 10) Max T. 11) Nicholas B.  12) Dave P. 13) Greg B.

    Where are we now? It was the first spring of Covid-19. Perhaps that was possibly what lead to her demise. A boy friend, I don't know; he got mad, or they had a fight, maybe, or he or they were really down... And she and her boyfriend were found. A welfare check. No longer living.

    Amarea W.

    

        I think I knew her four years. We may not have talked much. Different sections. I was always impressed by her work ethic. Her even demeanor. Stoic or strong, solid. She was a cadet to become an officer. Then she commissioned as a young lieutenant; she was going to join the infantry. That is impressive for anyone, and rare and more impressive for a female. She was gone with all that life in front to live.

    I met her family and mourned and celebrated with friends and family in the hot, summer sun, a few months later. Beautiful thoughts and songs and dances. 

    She left behind a large wake. She was a warrior drummer. She drummed, played in the band at her college. I think I worked around her a lot, and the memories blend. Worker bees doing their thing. Our things. Working toward the future.

    We remember you, LT W. You made it really well. In heaven, you will be a big presence there. I thank you for all your efforts. You are a super star. Forever remembered by me.

    Paul F.

    I got to know Paul either in 6th grade or 8th grade. Was he a Binford guy like me? I have to check my year books. Or maybe ask a friend that I have that I still keep in contact with. She knew him throughout adulthood. I knew him a bit back in high school, he got a play part at my school that influenced me to get another part. He affected my life. 

    Years later, I met up with him as he was meeting with the missionaries of my faith. The time when Ben S. and I were helping them. A time in Indiana for me of work, education, and transition. Paul was sincere, and smart, and conscientious. He decided that the Roman Catholic Church was the way to go, which I had to respect. I was excited for him to join my faith. I had dreamt of former classmates becoming a member of my church someday. It would signify that I or we were doing something right. We like re-affirmations, reminders or signs that we are on the right path.

    Years pass. We made it farther than a few I have mentioned above and in the previous parts of my Warrior Friends. 

    I was sad to learn he left behind at least one daughter, after his divorce, and that things got that dark, or hopeless. We cannot know all the things that happen to others; sometimes mysteries abound in ourselves. Like me talking about these long, lost warriors. They are not to be forgotten. No sir, or ma'am.

    What was Paul? A hometown warrior. Yes, I believe he was. I read articles he wrote to the paper. He was that type of guy.

    Max T.

    Was it this year? Or last? I believe it was 2023. I knew him in person in limited contexts. He was a bull on the court, a tough and strong guy. Later I learned of his powerful spiritual and tender side. He was a smart guy, who created games, and was a fun friend and brother to many. He took some early blows to his brain, and the injuries piled up and could not be fixed well enough. 

    I see and know who you left behind. It has been a tough time for all. Parents, siblings, other loved ones. The circles go far and wide.

    Not forgotten in these parts, forever remembered in many, many hearts and minds.

    Max the Gentle Warrior. With muscles of steel. Heart of a lion.

    Nicholas B.

I will save the last three for Part IV.

    We think of them fondly, with longing and some regret. Melancholy, and happiness, and gratitude for having rubbed shoulders with them. Laughs, fun times, smiles, love, and service. 

    We were good together, I must say.

    I thank them all for what they gave and shared. If I could have a few more photos, videos, vignettes or anecdotes. They are stored inside us.

 

To My Warrior Friends and Mates: Gone from Here, Not Forgotten: Part II

To My Warrior Friends and Mates: Gone from Here, Not Forgotten

1) Kelly C.  2) Scott C. 3) Robert P. 4) Jeremy H. 5) Scott H. 6) Ben S. 6) LT M. 7) Rob N. 8) Amarea W. 9) Paul F. 10) Max T. 11) Nicholas B.  12) Dave P. 13) Greg B.

    They were among us, and now they are not. I write of them. Grateful for memories; still being here on earth, breathing in the oxygen and exhaling carbon dioxide. Not my friends, my cohorts, these warriors.

    I did not know Scott H. too well. I have written about him before, how he was impressive and strong. He was. Like Kelly C., he was part of the Batchelor crowd, new to my expanding world when I took the bus past the train tracks to that developing part of town. He was already close to fully grown in 8th grade. I was far from my desired physical status. 14, 15 years-old. He usually had long hair, which a confident guy like him good wear pretty well. It was the 80s, a time where some studly dudes had long hair. Or big hair. Was MacGyver like that? Likely. He went to the Citadel in South Carolina, pretty sure. Not VMI in Virginia, but its rival further down south.

    We shared a class my senior year, where he stepped up all the time, asked questions to get his math credits. Where I sat and held back. I admired his humility and courage; some things I was lacking in. I had given up on a lot of my math abilities, my cares for equations or graphing, or whatever the next lesson was. Functions, and on to calculus, or trigonometry. I was leaving myself behind, but he was pushing on. Football stud, military academy college guy. Around 2000, or 2002 or 03, Scott was the good Samaritan along the side of the road and was killed. 

    Maybe I heard the news from my brother-in-law. I cannot remember how I heard the news. Maybe from an email. Scott H. was a quality, good, strong human being. One wayward vehicle ended his life. We all, I must think a few thousand of us, think of him and wonder why such a good guy has to go so fast, so tragic.

    Yep, Scott. You are just a warrior. Up in heaven, slaying some dragons, I would think. Like Achilles or Adonis. Yeah, like them. Greek or Roman, all epic.

    Ben S. 

    He lived closer to me and some other friends than we knew. He was just down the road. But he was alone, I gathered when went to a shop where he would meet with others and hang out. 650 miles from our hometown in Indiana. Like 15 or 20 miles from me, and my other former Indiana friends living in my community. And the Florida guy Larry, who lived even closer to Ben than he could believe. 

    But Ben was gone. He ended things on a sad and somber note. He was far from his ex-wife and his small daughter. Probably a thousand miles away. As friends of his entire family, I see them when I return to Bloomington; I am happy to see them while sad to know that bright young blonde son, a tall guy who liked to play basketball, is no longer here to make his way to reunions, parties.

    I got to know him the best in the late 90s, when we were members of the young single branch of IU. I think he went to jail for something silly. I did not pry too much; it was either none of my business or best not to know. Could have been marijuana, or alcohol, I used to think, and still do. Conjecture then and now may seem crass or unnecessary. He was bigger than any problems like that. We were assigned as missionary helpers. I drew up a plan for us to account for our efforts, whether it was directly teaching with the full-time church missionaries, or reading scriptures, or attending church, doing good activities.

    I was becoming a teacher. Rubrics and accountability were in my brain. He responded to it well, which impressed or at least gratified me. Did it help him, or me, or the cause to bring souls to Christ? 

    Not sure. I think it didn't hurt, anyway. I don't know. I do not have the answers. I hope I may have helped all of the above. Hard to measure, hard to ever know many things.

    But he was a sweet guy, from my perspective. He is missed. His girl should be big now, likely an adult. Perhaps a mother, too? We are missing Ben. The tall warrior.

    LT M.

    I call him this because I do not recall his name. I did not know him that long. We only talked a few times. We spoke in between buildings at military base where we worked, us doing our weekend "warrior" tasks and drills. We were warriors, or at least that is a nickname affixed to us. Soldiers in the U.S. Army have been called warriors for a generation or so. We have the warrior ethos, and other such appellations or nomenclature. We are soldiers, fighters, at times combatants, and warriors. We fight in wars, or at least we dress and prepare for such things. 

    Wars. Those fights make warriors, and thus we are.

    This young man was not very tall, not very loud. I suppose many people did not notice him much. Then he died, and not many missed him from what I could tell. Not many of us knew him that well. I did not. I remember that I did idle up to him at one point in the previous months, and I talked to him, likely asked him where he was from, maybe where he attended school.

    My armory put his picture up in the front foyer of our building at the entrance. He was there in the frame with his mom. I recall that she was smiling in the photo. He must have been, too. There real fast, gone real fast, from month to month our warriors come and go. 

    I think he was a decent guy. I can barely remember anything else. It would be sweet, to me, if another person that I knew in those times had some memories to tell, to share. Re-affirming that he mattered, that we mattered, our lives and efforts amounted to something. I believe it all is true. But it is better when someone else can confirm it and throw in a real fact or detail.

    For others to do with Lieutenant M. For another day very far off. But that day will come. We will all go there. Till then. The quiet warrior.

    Rob N. 

    I got to know Rob for a while. Maybe 2010 till his passing in 2016. I remember meeting him on a shooting range, mostly. He was an Arabic linguist, and unlike me could pass the tests with flying colors. Rob was super smart. After his untimely death, or at least for most of us who knew him, I wrote up a few pages about him and my impressions, and sent it to his mom. I asked her if I had her permission to send it to others. She never replied. I got to know her a little bit, from the funeral and the after meet up at a bar restaurant in Winchester. His sister was friends of our commander. Friendships and associations are funny things.

    We are all connected. Rob and I were connected to other Arabic linguists, like two females who went to Monterrey like us, who went through Arizona, and we all wound up working the greater industrial complex, the one President Eisenhower coined years before our time, and we were all a part of it.

    Rob was entrenched in the modern military industrial complex, and he was good at it. But something was wrong. I heard his farewell letter at his funeral service. He was eloquent and kind, but determined that things were not going to work. He wrote it months before his dad suddenly died.

    Also, in December. Rob was a year later.

    There are other things I could share, other feelings and thoughts. Suffice it to say, Rob was a soul warrior, or something. I am not sure. He was bright, smart, nice. I must say, now so mysterious. And young. We went asking about him at the main headquarters where he worked, where supervisors had known him.

    Ahh, what a way to go. And about 26 years-old. So, so young, like some other warriors mentioned.

    He was a warrior with us, and we wish we could keep him around. The linguist bright warrior.

END OF PART II.

    

To My Warrior Friends and Mates: Gone from Here, Not Forgotten Part I

To My Warrior Friends and Mates: Gone from Here, Not Forgotten (Pt. 1)

A) Kelly C.  0) Scott C. 1) Robert P. 2) Jeremy H. 3) Scott H. 4) Ben S. 5) LT M. 6) Rob N. 7) Amarea W. 8) Paul F. 9) Max T.10)  Nicholas B.  11) Dave P.

    I count them on both hands. I think I still have come up short on a few more. I may kick myself when I remember another person that has died, that I knew, maybe battled a little with or around. People that I rubbed shoulders with, admired, sometimes envied, or looked upon with various degrees of respect, and at times even disdain, but in the end I give up my honor and tributes of affections to them.

    Throughout my life there are friends that become my co-warrior buddies. Those that I fought with in sometimes realms and times of imagination, imaginary wars and other causes, real or made up. As boys of ten, teens of 17, young men in our twenties, thirties, and on. Dave made it to his fifties, and even he was gone, has left us, too soon. A warrior that has gone on to the other side, as the ones that I shall now recount. 

    

    Scotty C. He was about four years younger than me, a Boy Scout and deacon and then teacher, younger than me in the priesthood that we hold in my faith, as teens. While I was doing my mission in South America, in 1990 turning twenty that fall, Scotty C. was a16 year-old driving too fast in and around our home Monroe County. His peers remarked and tried to warn him. But to no avail. His young Scout comrades and school buddies were his pallbearers. We may have overlapped a few Scout Camps, striving for merit badges and Scouting accolades. I knew his parents, and younger brother; perhaps there was a little sister, too. 

    Did Scotty C. teach us all lessons? Do not drive recklessly. Practice more patience, control your speed, watch your surroundings. Perhaps at one point some folks told me where he crashed and perished; I cannot recall now. 

    As far as age, I likely blessed and administered bread and water, communion, to Scotty and his fellow Sunday passers to go to the rest of the congregation, which in those days we would open up the back curtains to contain the overflow of attendees in our modest chapel. He flashed by us way too fast, too soon, too precipitously. Too young! Drivers: we all must respect the roads, the laws, our tenuous grip on the speeds and immense powers that we possess behind the wheel. Road warrior: stay patient and in control. I have now lived three times his age. Plus, six years more. Whew. Stay safe, my fellow travelers. 

    Before Scotty C, there was Kelly C. 

    I got to know Kelly C. in eighth grade. Back then she struck me as a bit on the vain side, getting fake baked and sporting crazy long painted fingernails, to me being overly extravagant and impractical. We had a science class together. She was a new eighth grader, as half the class was to me, along with two others, or three others on this list. Ay, may they rest in peace! And may their memories bring us some respite, wisdom, pause, some nostalgic love and some remorse of loss.

    By our sophomore years at high school, we became buddies, and I liked her fully. She was real, not fake, as I had thought before. She was funny and nice. Two years later, maybe on a cold day or night in December or so, on Route 37 on the west side of town, a drunk driver collided with her and her mother, killing them both. He lived, from what I recall. Locked up, and back in 1989, how many years would he be sentenced for drinking and driving and killing two souls? Alas, not enough really.

    Kelly was a soul warrior, a cheer leader, my biology class buddy, a cheerful friend. We miss her, and I know family and friends closer to her much more than me.

    Robert P.

    I have written about him before, in multiple sites. At the time of his funeral, I wrote a tribute with memories when living in southern California, close to where he died. Was it a sickness, like bulimia? (I meant to write anorexia, thinking about this a few days later).  Maybe, according to some sources. He was alone. He had left his wife and child a couple of states away. He was intent on writing, getting involved in movies. 

    A ten year or more time period before, during his high school days, he was very invested as a drummer, very talented, and loved the Christian rock group Stryper. It was one of the few Christian groups that I knew or had heard of. Not my style or taste, but I respected his love for them, perhaps their biggest fan. Robert, or Bobby as I knew him, was a soul warrior of sorts. We did some camp outs together as smaller kids, some Scout adventures. Our moms were friends all our lives. Still would be, if my mom were still alive. Robert's mom is still hanging in there, from what I know.

    So, by the year 2000, spring or so, we had the teeny bopper road warrior, the high school graduate cheer warrior, I will call her, and Robert, perhaps the art warrior. They each have their causes, their hopes, dreams, trajectories. Dashed by things like vehicles and some chemicals. Accidental, purposeful, I do not know. May not matter much at this point.

    Jeremy H. died around 2003. And Scott H.gh died around that time, too. Not sure how Jeremy died, and it could have been chemicals, but I have no idea. I do not know which of our mutual friends, from the neighborhood growing up, or others later by high school and early college, know how he dies. Perhaps like Robert, it was accident. Intentional or not, it may not matter, as we are talking about this over twenty years later.

    Jeremy and were childhood friends. We had our ups and downs as chums, because like my other friends and him, we could get upset with each other. Safe to say he had issues. All of us do, in perfect honesty, but Jeremy has more than most. I hope I am not making myself too arrogant sounding or judgmental when I say, Jeremy had a common denominator with many of us neighborhood friends as being the one who do or say something to get us riled up and leave him to himself. I do not know what his condition was upon his death. From his obituary that I have read and re-read over the years, he sounded like a successful and kind guy, which makes me feel good for him and all that knew him. He was in the D.C. area, which I would move to later.

    Jeremy had a good imagination and was fun and creative a lot. I think I was, too. We would play games of war and creative takes on fantasy. We would play Dungeons and Dragons at his place, with other friends like Jacob or Peter, or Thomas, and maybe Evan. I will call Jeremy the imagination warrior. He later, after some distance from being his direct friend, got into drugs. I think I could tell this on the high school years. Perhaps he felt worse towards me than me him, but we did not communicate much our last few years. I have written this a few times before, but as a church missionary I had the distinct wish to apologize to him for past offenses. I wanted to state my sorrow for anything that I said or did that was hurtful to him. Hard to do now, except in such entries as this.

    My childhood imagination warrior. I remember you. We had some good times, I do recall and cherish. Wish we could chat; I am sure it would be fascinating and fantastic.

    I shall leave it at that.

    Good enough for now. We shall get to the other warriors later. I will not forget them.

    Good night, and good wishes.

    

 Holiday Family Letter 2024

    Well, I got to read a holiday letter from our neighbors next door this evening; it inspired me to write my own! It promised low expectations: I promise no such thing! I got some high expectations for this letter and life in general. When it comes to family, as the Church of Jesus Christ has always advertised: it is about time. There are three weeks left of the year, so it is by no means concluded, but there is plenty to reflect and consider, and celebrate. It has been a good year. I will mention folks without their names, but I think that those that know us should be tracking okay.

    Where to start? Why not in Germany? And Turkey?

    Our second to oldest has been serving an amazing mission for our Church based in Frankfort, Germany, but serving and working with the Turkish people of Turkey. She arrived there by the end of 2023, so all of 2024 she has been assigned to working with membership and friends in Ankara, Antalya, and most recently the big and ancient one, Istanbul. She is having a great time and making a big impact. She has had many good and wonderful assigned companions, good and supporting leadership, and even gets to talk to her close cousin Lance who is serving German-speaking not far away. She decided to go into her mission until later spring of 2025. W

    We miss her, but we get to speak to her regularly despite the time differences; we wish she would write more emails, but she is journaling, which is most of the battle when chronicling a mission for the Lord. We love her and celebrate her great friendships and accomplishments.

    Our oldest has had an eventful year. She started it traveling and is ending it singing and teaching, not necessarily in that order. In January she and her travel partner were in New Orleans, heading west, two months into their cross-country trek that ended in May. Upon returning to our abode, she worked five different jobs, preparing for graduate school, putting together a jazz trio, and also knocking out the long Vermont Trail, also known as the Long Trail, in September, followed by completing a marathon in October. She has been a crepe stand worker, lawn mower, tutor and assistant, behavior technician, and academic participant while getting her applications ready for graduate school in psychology. All this while maintaining her college friendships, or at least some of them.

    We are excited for her future; enjoying her present. She did lose a car to an accident in July, but she was okay and learned from it. We recovered the cost in insurance, but we got a great deal on it in the first place, so we are looking for the next means of locomotion soon. She may be moving out of state, so this will be a good investment.

    The oldest boy graduated from high school, had a somewhat adventurous summer, and began college in Rexburg, Idaho, where he has stayed active and is doing well. He is preparing to go the next semester out there, where he also visits with cousins and aunts and uncles in Utah. Finishing out high school, his baseball team almost won the state championship, and the game that eliminated him he did not get any at-bats, and they only scored 2 runs in 11 innings, which they should have won 2-1 in regulation. Put me in, coach? Oh, well, it was the best the Dominion Titans had ever done. He did well in spring track. He finished winter track earlier in the year pretty well, despite being wiped over with an illness mono-like from the end of 2023.

    We love and appreciate him, knowing that he should achieve what he sets his heart and mind on. Running, volleyball, ultimate frisbee, classes, outdoor living and exploring. He and I had a fun trip across the country to drop him off. We scaled a good mountain in Alberta, which was mostly him. After many days and nights of driving and camping. Poutine and root beer were cool stops. 

    The second oldest boy also did his high school exploits well, with winter and spring track ending as sophomore, with outstanding grades and attending early morning seminary. He fulfilled his priesthood duties, many with his older brother, and maintained fun friendships where they played a lot ping pong, volleyball, plus trips to the west in youth conferences and survival camps. He is a very fun addition to the family and his environment, and increasingly likes to sing, as he and his older have done successfully, and to some aplomb. 

    Both the older sisters are good singers, too, as is the youngest Clinch girl. The oldest is accomplished at playing instruments. She written and composed multiple songs, made into tracks or singles. The youngest has taken her piano lessons and sings like a lark. She has a talent for learning lyrics and does very well at songs. She is active in not only her church activities but those at school and her friend, too. She has fun friends and spends quality time with them. She has gone through a series of books where she has been heavily invested, but not currently. She works on some Spanish, but more math with her mom. She had a good summer visiting with family and spending quality time with her friends.

    Then there is the mother. Wow, what a lady! She likes to stay positive and active, maintaining the house, scheduling trips to ancient wonders of the world, making sure all the kids are on task and accounted for. And that includes her students at the high school, too, and the primary and activity children at church. She supports all of us, many hours daily and weekly, and finds a little time for herself. She loves to go to the temple and do other church activities, supporting sisters and brothers and missionaries, and she stays active with her schoolteacher friends as well.

    

    I could go on, but I am running out of time now, as my family this evening enjoys a detective police show.

    A few days later...

    My year has been up and down, but mostly up. I have been able to accomplish some long-time goals;  at my age I am trying to line up things for winding down the career. My health is relatively good, but could be slightly better. No complaints, as I just learned an old friend who is not so old is likely dying of appendix cancer. I want to go another 40 or so years! We shall see.

    This year I deferred a good chunk of change to retirement savings. I need to catch up and do things more in that regard. Maybe publish that book that I wrote the last few years.

    Happy tidings and best wishes, all.

    Merry Christmas and Happy Chanukah and Happiest Kwanzaa and Boxing Day.

    May all your good wishes come true.

    Senhor Eduardo

    

 Soto, Dybantsa, and South Bend: Oh My! 

    If you don't know, I like some sports. I like me some sports, and players, and teams. 

    So, before my Christmas letter that I am inspired to write, I must comment.

    Juan Soto, one of my favorite players and perhaps one of the best of all time, just signed 15 years with the Mets. Fifteen years? I think that will be till 2040. I will be old then, if still alive... Juan, the Truth, (as I call him), will be older too! And very wealthy. 765 million? Is that about right? Of course, 7.65 million (no, I meant .765 billion) will be less worth by then. So, not that impressive, really. I might be worth a million by then, if I am still alive. Who knows? Go Nats! My buddy at work from New York City should be happy... If the Nats are not winning, maybe the Mets are okay. Or the Padres. Just not the same old guys... Dodgers, Braves, or even the Yanks and Red Sox. Or Astros... We want new guys to win the Fall Classic. 

    Then there is D.J. Dybantsa, from Boston. Did I spell that right? He committed to my alma mater and beloved Brigham Young University Cougars men basketball team. Oh, is A.J. AJ! 

    We can Richie Saunders, maybe the Bosnian or Serbian back, likely not Egor Demon, who knows, but Dallin Hall and a few others. Keita, and that Xavier guy and a few others. We can be ballin'! The new Duke of the West, as I told some folks at work. Others asked me if we had a good NIL deal. I think so.

    And then there was... What was I thinking about?

    Oh, yeah. IU Hoosiers in two Fridays in northern Indiana. Should be a grand time!

    College Football Playoff! Whoo hoo!

    Great time to be in a darker time of year. And to have some good sports and other stuff to celebrate.

    Peace here, Luigi Mangione is facing justice, and maybe health companies will treat some folks better.

        The real world continues.

    NEXT UP: the Christmas letter. 2024.