Indiana Football Champs! Cinderella Amazing Season...

    Wow. It went perfect, getting past the mid-season struggles of Iowa, and Penn State, which were close. Oregon was tense, too. Then the close win versus Ohio State. Injuries were mostly avoided. Mendoza won the Heisman. Then the Hoosiers pounded Alabama, and Oregon, much bigger than the first game.

    The final, last night, was a formidable foe in the Miami Hurricanes. It was tense. The second half the Hurricanes kept coming, and IU stayed ahead, with some clutch plays and a blocked punt in the end zone, going up ten again. Integers of 10 most of the game for Indiana's comfort, then holding on six till the end. Jamari Sharpe picked up the game sealing throw with less than a minute to go.

    All of the Hoosiers contributed. Omar Cooper did his fine things. Elijah Sarrat was not stellar, but Charlie Becker came in huge, clutch.  Nowakowski, the big tight end, ran for a touch down and made big plays.

       The defense played well enough. Kamara on special teams added the vital second half score when IU's offense was stalling. Black showed power. Hemby finally got a few good runs. Mendoza ran his remarkable touch down run.

    We are now tied all time for Yale of 1894. Who they play? Sisters of the Poor, for sure.

    Remarkable. Clutch. Gritty. Well honed, well executed. Few mistakes.

    Cignetti brought in a dynamo, with players and coaches and plans, the mental mind set to win.

    It happened. Last night.

    16-0. Perfect for the ages.

Martin Luther King Day 2026. How are We Doing?

    The United States has gone through its ups and downs far as racial relations up till this year, 2026. Today is MLK day, where we celebrate or discuss and analyze equal rights and freedom, the struggles of our nation's history and how we have advanced, or not, to making all people equal, or allowing people to have equal opportunities.

    Hard not to mention Donald Trump in these times, in this age of racial thinking. Is he racist? Does he hate or dislike people of color? I have thought over the years that he is not anti-black, in a racist way in that respect as some accuse him, but that he is a classist, and thinks of the poor as beneath him, that he sees the world in colors of green for money and power, not the skin tone as a source of his values and judgments. I could be wrong. He has said some racist things that I know of, but I am not convinced that those racially insensitive things that he shared in Chicago about the poor folks of Chicago who were black were about strictly being African-American, or simply as they were poor. Then again, I am a white man, so ask a hundred Black people how they interpret his words.

        It is not all about this re-elected president, but also but policies in place, those that he believes in, and other laws and policies that are in place now and in the past. We have hundreds and thousands of others who instill their values and actions, whether elected or appointed, or doing their jobs in law enforcement or other capacities.

    Are we a color free society? By no means. Judgments and harsh decisions come down unfairly at times against the poor, the infirm, the underprivileged, those without legal documents or identification...

    How are people in other countries treated per their race or ethnic heritage? In the United States it has been rough. Russia versus Ukraine, now for years, has been atrocious, but this is not racial but ethnic and economic. Congo and Sudan in Africa may be even more deadlier, but these are not considered racially motivated, but again, more ethnically based.

    I believe that Black people in the U.S. are doing better than ever. There are hurdles and uphill battles, still, but the opportunities and upward mobility is there. Disadvantages remain, based on inheritance wealth, or the lack of it. I know guys that I have worked with, specifically from Maryland, who are Black, but do not have much legacy money from their parents or families. Another young man, who I recently attended a funeral with, has made close to half a million dollars from the relatively recent death of his father, who accrued some wealth from his father. He is set to build his wealth in 2026 and in a couple decades for his retirement.

    Crime and prison is worse among African-Americans than most whites, which is an obvious drain on wealth gained and preserved.

    I am leaving out the second biggest minority in the U.S., which are Latinos. While some Latin Americans are qualified as Black, most are deemed brown, and have received their share of discrimination and hard times to succeed in our modern society. However, I believe there are metrics that show that Latinos are progressing, overall. Asians and Europeans are doing well here in the homeland, as some believe that they have inside advantages. Perhaps. Not as many problems as the bigger minorities, which could be debated in many ways.

    Some have argued that economics in jobs, health care, home ownership, diet or health, have the biggest impact on the various races of the U.S.

    Perhaps this is true.

    Are we a meritocracy yet? As Doctor King and so many others have wanted and planned?

    Maybe not.

    There is a lot to go. But somewhere inside of me, I think that Martin Luther King and his dream is going ahead. 

    Happy day, and how blessed are so many of us that are paid to have this holiday paid for, with time to be with family and friends. And maybe even serve and do other things for others. As the Reverend might preach and commend us to do.

    Onward and upward.

    Live the dream.

Most of Us Come Back. Alive and Active - The Missions that We Undertake

    Some make fun of missionaries for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Matt Parker and Tre Stone, enjoy your millions made for your mocking comedies and catchy, profane musical about guys in the faith who in their case went to a mythical yet stereotypical and rather insulting or racist African nation. We are serious about spreading the Gospel of Jesus Christ, which is not funny, whimsical, or racist. Most of us are not full time missionaries, but we strongly support those that are set apart to work around all corners of the world.

    Missions for the Church were a thing before that farcical attempt at levity, during that, and since. The musical still goes from city to city (in 2025), but I think since the George Floyd summer of 2020, more people realize that racism is alive and well (stinky well) in so many ways, and even humor cannot take the glimmer from the virtue and goodness of the missionaries of the Church. Not as many people will be cool with the racist musical about the elders of the church doing a good-hearted mission. It will be a side note in history.

    But this post is not about those that are against Latter-Day Saint missionaries. Rather, I wish to discuss the survivability and the endurability of those that go on full time missions for the Church, the one so many call Mormon, but within the faith itself wishes to promote and sustain the name of Jesus Christ.

    Some outside the religion based in Salt Lake City respect that naming convention, The Church of Jesus Christ of LDS, the longer and official one, but do not evince the faith and follow the purpose for which it is promoted, and for which it enforces such nomenclature. It is of Jesus Christ, say us believers, not Mormon, a nickname, no matter how great a prophet he was and the book that he edited. Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. Not some ancient follower of Him (Mormon), he who commanded armies of Nephites, and who redacted golden plates. Mormon was a great man. He shared about Jesus. And the latter of course, is the one to emphasize.

    Missionaries of the Church (of the Lord, we say), go on full time status and regularly go to distant places to share and uphold the faith of the Latter-day Saints. Mormons, as most call me or us at work.

    One is normally the other. Names and labeling. Okay, we establish that. LDS missionaries. Mormon evangelizers. Elders and sisters. Full time, set apart, young and old badge-wearing, adult representatives of the Church. Of Jesus Christ. Of Latter-Day Saints.

    I was one, my wife was one, my mother and step-father became them for service in Cambodia and Indonesia. Many of us go and do. My daughter has been one, my son and his girl friend are now, in this perhaps momentous month of January 2026. May they go, learn, love, and thrive!

    Since the 1830s we have gone and served, preached and taught, testified and bore witness to Jesus the Savior, Joseph Smith, the Book of Mormon, the Priesthood of God restored, and all the other points of the faith. Principles, morals, tithing, temples, vicarious ordinances, music, gatherings, family togetherness, and on. Things churchy, Mormon, Christian.

    I do not mean to meander, or bluster on about the things that we all know and have heard before. I wanted to talk about the ones that go out, that most of us return, and not the same numbers but most of us full time missionaries  stay active upon returning and going "part-time" as regular members. Some fall away. Some quit during the missions and never go back. I know a few stories of this. We are hundreds and thousands of stories and case studies. Some go anti-church, while others more quietly leave the religion and its tenets and practices.

    Some are cut short while being full-time representatives and elders and sisters for the church.

    Some die in the mission field. Occasionally murder takes a missionary life. It happened to a young elder in Virginia Beach this century. Or Chesapeake, the Hampton Roads area. A random thing, but devastating to him and his family. People get attacked and killed while serving. Not often. It occurred in Peru in the 1990s when I served full-time. A knife attack by a random crazed guy? It took the life of some missionaries in Bolivia in the late 1980s.

    Traffic accidents and deaths happen. A bad one in Iowa in the 1990s, to James' mission, he of Southern California, a friend and family member of those I know. Sicknesses and illnesses take the lives of some. Some mysterious. Some, like soldiers or others on more secular missions, die of strange and unexplained heart defects or stomach poisons, never to be fully discovered. 

    But as stated from the start, most us return alive. Not all fully healthy. A man in his forties in Utah has a type of mental illness perhaps derived from some bizarre bacteria or microbes from Spain, of all places.

    Most of us come home alive, breathing, and primarily healthy. Some changed, some forever, others not. And we move on with our lives. Some work and achieve tremendous success. Others not. Some returned missionaries might devolve into mental illness, or physical disrepair.

    We keep moving. An illness took a fellow returned missionary with brain cancer last month, December 2024. However, he went out as a champion. I attended his funeral yesterday. An honorably returned missionary, now to his eternal creator. He left behind two young boys, future emissaries of Jesus, like him, who went to Little Rock, Arkansas. His boys may be in hi mold.

    Most of us returned missionaries will grow old, and grey, and perhaps senile. Like my friend Ron M., who is now deep into his 80s. His wife passed this last year or so. Ron served in Brazil.

    Most of us will have deep and meaningful experiences in our church missions without getting too ill. Some, like my nephew Robert, will get sick multiple times while in Sierra Leone. Or like Greta Johnson, who fought malaria throughout her senior mission in Ghana. I had a sickness for a month, about eight months in, and lost a month of service time. It was hard; there was some time of pain and loneliness. But I made it. Decades later I had a similar sickness; it was diagnosed as Epstein Barr. Or maybe cytomegalovirus. Either way, like mononucleosis. Not great, but we still stayed current on our investigators and we taught and baptized. I recovered.

    Some do not. Some are electrocuted, and die, like in Guatemala (I was shocked in Chile but only stunned a bit) or shot like that poor elder in Jamaica in the last few years. Some come home early, like two different cases I know from Hawai'i. 

    Most of us finish out our 18 months or 24 months with honor. Some do not. Some confess about getting too close to a girl in some remote part of South America, like where you get relegated to after three months of Santa Juana, with me. I cannot recall the name of the town now. Remote. Away from stuff. Perhaps the confession gave our mission president a heart attack. But he survived. Lived till my oldest was eight or nine, a good, long, life. Jud Allsop. Great man. Great guy. Man of faith.

    He served his mission in Mexico, where he met his wife. Decades before. She was a dear companion and helpful to him and us while down in Chile. She and him and their maid helped me recover one week while coming back from the hospital when I was ill in Concepcion, Chile.

    More and more missionaries and ex-missionaries and returned missionaries all the time join the ranks.

    Most of us come back. Whole, or at least partially intact.

    To go on more battles or missions, or to fight windmills or slay dragons. Some of these are imaginary foes, while other struggles are real. We survive and continue to live, move, and continue.

    And we come back alive, to breathe to tell tales of the heartaches and emotional swells, the triumphs and the lows, the beauties and the challenges of being a full time missionary.

    May we all come back alive. And thrive.

    

 Indiana Men: In Basketball, You Suck. You are Kind of Pitiful

    Well, I can be that way, too. Same, same, maybe.

    But I am not worth millions of millions of dollars, with a huge alumni base rooting for all my minutes and games week to week, month to month. 

    Lamar Wilkerson. Too inconsistent. Peyton Conorway. He played decently against Iowa for a while in Bloomington today, this  afternoon, but not enough, and nothing after IU cut it to four in the second half when I turned on the game. Indiana did little right after that point. They have crumpled against the last few teams: Michigan State... a whole lot of nothing late, 19-0 run against them. Who else? Wisconsin? No, Ohio State? Whoever, they were up by six and then all bad. Illinois? They had Nebraska down by 16, and crumpled.

    Crumple, crumple, IU men in b-ball.

    So sad. DeVries is the new coach. His son and the big men were supposed to be good, better.

    Tucker. Reed. Trisley, Alexis. 

    Connor Enright flashed perhaps two good games in a row, but not good enough lately. 

    Ugh. We need better. 

    We need an enema. Nah, that is Jack Nicholson playing the Joker.

    We need a general, again. Great recruiting. Tactician work.

    Do we have it? Not convinced.

    Better luck next year? Or, they may rebound this season.

    Slight chance. Slightest of chances.

 Indiana Men's Basketball: Relegated to the Dung Heap of College Championship History?

    Maybe. Maybe these Hoosiers never get the talent and the moxy that they need. Perhaps we have left them behind in the 1980s. Perhaps we will never return to any of those glory days.

    Year after year of futility. Now decades. The current coach and the program writ large are okay. Brand new. But they lack grit and talent, plus cohesion.

    DeVries and Devries. The coach might be big-time enough. The son is too slow, in my opinion. I wish he shot a little bit better. And would move better. Same with all the new Hoosier guys.

    They made a second half run at Michigan State tonight in East Lansing, as I write this, but then they folded and were crushed. A bit like the last game in Bloomington to undefeated Nebraska. Yes, top ranked Cornhusker nation. They are being picked by some as a number one seed.

    Nebraska. 

    Meanwhile, Indiana lingers as a bottom of the basketball cellar dweller, after being briefly ranked when winning a few games in the pre-conference months. Marquette looked like a great victory, but now they are little regarded as anything special.

    And now IU.

    Nothing special. No championship prospects again. 

    1990s. One Final Four. Duke stood in the way.

    2000s. One great run to the Final Game. Maryland had its way.

    2010s. Crean had one great team that choked in the Sweet Sixteen.

    2020s. Over halfway through and Indiana is not good enough.

    I am too old for this.

    Go, IU. Fight, fight, fight...

    For relevance.

Indiana Football Team Primed for the Hurricanes - No Jinxing It

    One week from tonight.

    The Hoosiers have most of their necessary guys. Oregon was hurt in the running back department.

    Mendoza is amazing, as are the offensive guys, the men on defense, the special teams.

    Miami has been clutch.

    I will report on it. The first team to ever go 16-0?

    We shall see.

The Knapsack, Go-Bag: Emblem of the Hobo of the Modern Times

    Our country has a long tradition (possibly two hundred years or more?) of guys--men, typically, called by the rest of polite society as vagrants or hobos, many times jumping on train cars across the nation, finding their luck or fate in various and sundry ways, making their life a bit haphazard and carefree, perhaps a notion of threat to the rest of us, living in less of a sedentary style, but more like a nomad or a romanticized Gypsy of yesteryear.

    Hobos. Vagrants. Bums. Train spotters or jumpers. They would have those cloth knapsacks, stereotypically attached to the end of stick. It does not have to be just these guys. Houseless tramps, wandering migrants and illegal immigrants. Some come from Latin America, but in the vast expanses of the United States, and maybe into Canada, there is space and opportunity for the long distance travelers, sojourners, soul searchers, malcontents and homeless, the poor or the random well-off miscreant, maybe an alcoholic or drug-induced wanderer. Sane or not, smart or dumb, hairy and hirsute or well shaved and or bald, these people take their bags of choice to and fro.

    We do not have to be a hobo or a poor wayfarer to use bags that aid us in our travels.

    Regular travelers and tourists use their luggage and bags for their belongings or gifts, their keepsakes and knickknacks. Knick knacks in knap sacks. English. Gym goers have gym bags, or sacks, cases,  or even purses, to pack their wares and change of clothes and footwear.

    Some of us in other realms use bags and sacks for our purposes, which can be named by different appellations, like the "go-bag". A sack or bag that can be picked up in a moment's notice, to be highly mobile and still effective in our duties and missions. I had one once; I used it in places where we traveled by day or by night, whenever or whatever we had to do. It was far away from where I am normally, and I kept it in my house storage. I believe that my daughter or maybe my son, or maybe both at one point, borrowed it for their own traveling or sporting purposes.

    It was long, it was made of a strong, tannish material, it had some adjustable straps. It brought back good or nostalgic memories from my times away, my ventures into odd and exotic places where I was supposed to be, doing what I was doing. With others, but not always. Sometimes by myself, moving between bases, some times back to places that I knew before, some of those places familiar and homey, but becoming distant as time wore on.

    My kids say I can be cryptic. Okay, maybe, but these things mean stuff to me, and perhaps it could be meaningful to another. Not too special, not too outlandish, nothing too crazy, but some footnotes, not endnotes, of my life. My go-bag was a nice and maybe bittersweet reminder of a few days, or past moments where I was engaged in some far off travels and jobs. Moments with others and by myself.

    Perhaps it was canvas, that go-bag. Not burlap. But alas, not all things can or should last. My wife did a long, cold, late night cleaning up and out of the detritus and materials of our cluttered garage. It was kind of an end of the year purging, if you will. Within some of the things found, was a solid amount of rodent waste, and some of their damage and contamination to our things, to include that once valued go-bag. Not just a knapsack or cloth satchel, but the once valued carry item. Perhaps three of us used it over ten years?

    It sat at the top of the trash heap. Actually, there were two trash cans filled to the brim. It sat close to the top of one.  I tried to see or determine if the stains could be removed, if this bag could be salvaged. Some of those memories spoke to me as I touched it, analyzed it status. No, it was time to bid it adieu. Goodbye. Farewell. Best wishes. This little remembrance or tribute a bag used and used up. To a container that worked for a season, that had its use and purpose, sat silent and mostly forgotten, and went off with many other old, discarded possessions. I was glad I saw it before it left for the dung heap of the our greater nation. It may sit moldering somewhere, below maybe by now, a ton of other things, large and small, remembered or forgotten, valued or disdained.

    Have I put it to bed? Have I evoked the gods and spirits of the hobos and free spirits, the workers and the tourists, the travelers and the hikers, the itinerant workers and the specialized operators, who crossed the nation as poor and rich, loved and hated, abandoned or cherished?

    Have I become a modern hobo, looking back across the fields and meadow and rivers and bridges of the land, albeit in memory and emotion, thinking back to a time when I was less inhibited, less constrained, freer to live yet stuck in the same rhythms that we all ultimately find ourselves in?

    Sure, maybe.

    I will get that to-go bag to go, please. Rest it on my shoulder and move on down the road of life.

    

Six Undefeated Men's Teams as of January 4, 2026. Who can do it?

    Five majors and one minor are without a loss, this far into the New Year. What will be by March? Will Venezuela be okay, after we took their president and first lady? Will nothing else get crazy in the world, like in Ukraine or Israel-Palestine? Will anyone care about Sudan or other war-torn places, perhaps maybe Congo?

    This post is about men's Division One basketball, not world affairs. But occasionally one will affect the other. Like 2020 and COVID. The Chinese pandemic.

    Who are the unblemished? Vanderbilt, Arizona, Iowa State, Nebraska, and Michigan. Oh yes, and Miami of Ohio. The Redhawks? The Mighty Mid-American Conference, anyone?

    Will any of them run the table? Not likely, for at least three reasons. I will also add the psychological factor. We are prone to mess up. Like I explained about free throws yesterday.

    Reason why no one of these teams will go undefeated into March and run the table, as we say:

    1). Historical precedent of parity. Not since the well endowed Hoosiers of 1976 has a team gone undefeated and won the National Championship. There have been some powerful teams since, probably a few better than the Indiana Bob Knight squad of my little years. 

_____________________

BREAK: Now January 7. 2026.

Vandy is playing ranked Alabama tight in the second. Arizona is getting on Kansas State. Koa Peat is impressive. 

    I wager none of these teams will make it unscathed during this month. Maybe Miami of Ohio? But they may not even make the 68 field of the Big Dance in March. May I make it in my work till then? We shall see. Just live and breath. Drive safe.

    Nebraska will get theirs. Michigan, too. Purdue and a few other Big Ten teams are good, a few ranked like Michigan State and Illinois. Maybe Iowa, and of course my Hoosiers. Not Maryland or Rutgers, they are down.

    It is a long season.

    May the one loss BYU Cougars prevail! Not Arizona. Should be fun.

    Enjoy, last of the undefeated. You will all lose soon enough.

    See ya. Blog on.

 You are Not as Great, or Good, as You Thought You Were. But that is okay

    You have to believe that you are good enough, because even when you are failing, or falling, or mis-que-ing, (need to look up that word). When others doubt or mistrust or fail you, you have to hang in there. Or then you will really fail. You have to believe that you and the good will work out.

    Religious or not. Otherwise, things can get too hard to withstand. You need some self-belief and some confidence, if not that much in yourself than at least the system. Or systems.

    God, or Jesus, or the spiritual paths to the good are important to many of us. They are crucial. For the secular or more agnostic, we have to have systems and checks that will stay there for us.

    We understand being down and depressed, lonely or feeling lost or abandoned.

    We have to be found, as they say, by whatever means.

    I guess the guy four years older than me who killed himself a few months ago gave up hope. He had issues, that we can all agree to. But we must figure things out better.

    Some say he did not think that people liked him enough.

    Yeah, I get it. Sometimes we can be hard on ourselves in that vain, too.

    But we have to ease up on the scrutiny, do our best, and live for another day.

    Make it through the storms, rains, and mists. The sun and temperate times will come.

    It will be okay.

    Do not hate yourself or others that much, because that formula is a negativity cycle that will not end up well.

    Patience, love, forgiveness, are key, especially to those closest to you, like you and your spouse.

    Love you. Love me. Thanks for doing that.

    

 Appreciation and Perspective

    The second day of 2026. Should be a good year. I woke up sick, so I did not go to work. I can submit Leave Without Pay time, and hopefully make up the hours of pay later.

    Money. It matters. We in the United States and everywhere care greatly about wealth, prosperity, production, comfort, affordability.

    I will continue to battle. We have awesome family and friends that sustain us.

    Love you! Still going.

    Peace.

   Pray that Venezuela works out. Bless Delcy Rodriguez and all the rest.

Many Can Feel Down at the Holidays - It is Not Abnormal

    Dear Elders, Sisters, Brothers, and Friends,

    Happy New Year! Today is the first day and now night of 2026. Are you down, maybe bummed? That is not too far fetched. It happens. Many of us in the northern hemisphere are in dark and cold times. That can reflect on our lives and feelings, our tender or fragile egos or characters.

    That is okay.

    You are okay. If you are physically ill, I am sorry. That happens. We hope and wish and pray that you recover soon! Herbal teas, warm comforters, blankets, comfy socks or gloves or other warm garments, perhaps nicer boots or ear muffs. I just heard about a nice young lady giving away her prized scarf to an older woman, to cheer her up and literally succor her.

    Read a warm story, or create your own. Write up a cheery letter for someone else. Think of someone who you have not thought of in a while, and send them a greetings. May not be much, but only something.

    Rest, sleep, or maybe you need do some pushups or the plank? Maybe you need to sweat? Maybe you have to re-read a special letter or note to you from a while ago? Or a special verse or story that makes the heart warmer?

    We do not have all the answers. I know that I do not.

    In Decembers past I have lost a few buddies that I have worked with. Soldiers who were smart, nice, capable. Rob and Nicholas. They were super nice to me, smart, and by most terms successful. But I guess the December blues or down times got to them.

    Can you do me a favor? Can you get through the cold months and live and love for another day, another week, another month, another year? Can you think of something that inspires you? Whatever it takes, whether it be just an extra nap, an extra snack, an extra something. 

    Pray. God will come through, with your patience and love. He has it all. 

    But we know that life is not always so clean and easy.

    Don't despair. 

    Keep going; things will get better. However, we understand that things can be hard.

 A Death in the Family

    After twenty five years of a fruitful marriage, my wife thinks that I write a eulogy, obituary, or memorial homage of all those that die.

    Truth be told, I do not. I cannot. I believe that there are millions or at least hundreds of thousands of people who die, every day. I am woefully behind when it comes to writing about them all. I can only do so much. There are some eulogies that I could write, perhaps, even quasi-eloquently, that I have not. Some write-ups are more required than others.

    I would be remiss and ungrateful if I did not write and reflect on my father-in-law, who left this earth in the spirit early this morning.

    I saw him laugh, and love, and care, sharing with many, many people. He was upbeat, and funny; he had interests and unique qualities that were admirable. He made my wife laugh and smile. He taught her many things growing up that came in handy in her life and our shared life. He imbued in her many qualities that I have enjoyed for the last quarter of a century, and I hope to have another 25 to go, the fourth child of this young octogenarian. Or more than another twenty-five years with my spouse might be best. Like me, my wife is now a little more grown up since the passing of a parent. He will always be the dad that raised her and gave her her foundation. I am grateful to him for that.

    Steve was a man of many inner strengths, and external ones, too. He, like the rest of us, was by no means perfect. He knew he had limitations, like we all do. I remember when he was perhaps 72 or so years-old he sent out an email or text to his eight children and by extension the spouses and his dozens of grandchildren that it was hard to be able to keep up with all of them, and us, spread out from Virginia, Texas, California, Utah, and Washington. And sometimes further, like Mexico, Guatemala, Peru, and Sierra Leone. Understood. Life was not always as simple as we would like to have it, that is for sure. Communication and messaging is not that easy for many of us, especially when the numbers become more prolific.

    Steve brought love and joy to those that knew him, and maintained close relationships. But at times the relationships grew distant and there was some hidden strains of separation. Or how else to call it? But I know that the love and care that he was able to share was noted by those that knew and loved him. He would bother to pay attention to me, a distant son-in-law, even in his last days. He was surrounded by many who cared for him, including a dear grandson that he was able to relay his last word of thanks to shortly in his last breaths.

    My point of view is mostly farther and more distant than those that he raised and then later came to know, like his grandchildren and others. I met him a little after meeting his daughter in Southern California, about a half year after moving to the Golden State. Okay, I am not sure how long after our acquaintance, but it was enough time to know that I wanted to marry her, which might have been quite a few weeks in. Now that I think of it, had I proposed to her yet? Probably not... But I informed her father at the French style restaurant Mimi's that I was serious about his adult child and pursuing her, and she me, enough for marriage. Steve seemed agreeable, amiable, to my statement of intention;  I think that he more or less intimated back that if she was interested, that he would be good with the arrangement. Maybe he said that I seemed like a decent enough guy. He accepted me, for his daughter! I was thrilled, relieved, and content.

    Later that spring I saw him and my fiancé in his vehicle near his work in Redlands, California, while I was waiting in line for a play. Out of context, I was not sure who he was, smiling with shiny white teeth from the darkened cab, me without my glasses and having no idea that he was in a large black pick-up truck, then realizing my girl friend was sitting next to him! Papa Steve, as some called him. Dad and daughter riding together again.

    We went to Lake Havasu right before our wedding, he taking us out on a boat in the refreshing river waters, and sleeping in the hot desert night in and around his camping RV. Over the years we saw him in different parts of Southern California, with my wife seeing him more in his his later years in Washington State, which is where he finished out his days.

    82 years. How to measure those revolutions around the sun, the birthdates young to old? In children sired? Those progeny raised? In the grandchildren produced, as results of the children now made adults? In who the person loved, or assisted, or touched, or supported?  In his professions, his interests, his hobbies, his passions?

    How do we measure lives? In memories, feelings, gifts, times and experiences, lessons learned, looks, embraces, tears shed, laughs and smiles rendered.

    We visited with him on the East Coast when my wife celebrated a significant milestone. We took him to a number of places, as a family, but my wife was able to spend some times alone with him, including a dinner that she had with him at an Olive Garden, one I pass on the way to work every day. When I see it, this Italian food restaurant, I think of a past colleague that took my wife, children, and I there on his work voucher, treating us two adults and five children, followed by ice cream at a nearby mall. 

    Memorable to me, for sure, when getting a full family meal for his largesse, a friend and cohort from a previous place coming close to my home. Most of the kids, even though some were toddlers, still remember Kent's contributions there. But not my wife. The Olive Garden is where she ate with her dad.

    Fittingly so. That is where she ate with her dad.

    You see that Olive Garden? That is where Steve ate a memorable meal with his beloved daughter.

    'Tis so.

    He is gone now, in the new year with other family thinking and reflecting on his life of presence and love. Some mixed memories of melancholy and loss. Family and friends spread across the country and  globe. His spirit has moved to the next plain. The others are moving on with their lives, forever holding in their hearts and minds a man who was with them, brought them to the sea, the beach, the lakes, the mountains, to his plants and gardens, his garages and classic cars, his meals and movies, his jokes and stories.

    May his spirit, his life, his death and passing, his personality and his loved ones, be in a peaceful way, and the legacy of his light and hopes go on forever.