The eldest nephew contacted me and I was greatly surprised for reasons which are not important since it's further confirmation I can write relatively well but I suck as an interpersonal communicator.
He wrote he always kind of dug it that I had a different drummer and the drummer is obvious to me now but I didn't really think my drummer was all that different back then.
He knew of the Righteous Cleansing of the Duckmobile in which we smashed that car all to hell because, obviously to me, it was the only suitable means of dispatch for a worthy automobile. Prior to her dispatch, the Reverse gear had blown out and the only way to park was to find a hill so I could roll backwards to get to a position in which I could use Drive to escape. I think something else broke after that and there was no chance of getting such things repaired so there was only one answer remaining.
The Duckmobile had been custom-painted with a willing set of cohorts, all armed with only the best: enamel house paint. There you see the lovely result and this didn't precisely match the Ken Kesey hippie bus specification but even that it seems had to be twisted in some way.
The automobile gets its name from the Ski Duck on the hood and ...
Zen Yogi: it's not a duck but a bloody chicken, Silas!
So you may insist, my bear buddy, but that will only slow us down on the way to the story. It's a duck. Ha.
When the EldestNephew was quite young, I would greet him by wiggling my hands over my forehead as if a reindeer or some such. This became a tradition between us and we would return that reindeer wiggle whenever we saw each other. I have no idea why I did it but I'll blow it off with it's the kind of dumb ass thing uncles with no children may do and maybe it had something to do with him being the first since I didn't do it with the many nieces and nephews who followed.
He wasn't so much older as in still a teeny tiny but he became extremely ill and so much so he needed to go to hospital. I'm not sure how it came that I was there but so it went and I saw him looking so pale and so sick and it was devastating. I couldn't think what else to do which might be of any comfort so I threw him that reindeer wiggle.
I fell apart altogether when he threw that wiggle back with his tiny, feeble little hands. I had never really thought I was suitable for parenting but that moment was convincing along with the incredible toughness Doc and Mrs Doc were showing even while this had to have been ripping their guts up as well.
Not all stories from the aged and decrepit have to be mortifyingly embarrassing to the new generation which, in turn, has brought a new generation of its own. In the case of the EldestNephew, he has or soon will have three just as did his father. The Hope for everyone is he should do so well with his own in the same way.
He moved to Colorado and became the skier I had always hoped to be since he has phenomenal skills and has no fear. He also became an exceptional cook and, with men, that's often a neglected art but he saw it early and has thrived on it. To my own minor credit, I did learn cooking late and the joy of cooking something I liked just the way I wanted it and the even bigger joy in finding my company liked it as well.
There's a story of some kind behind cooking for a woman but I'll leave that for your consideration in your next idyllic moment since the EldestNephew already knows.
He wrote he always kind of dug it that I had a different drummer and the drummer is obvious to me now but I didn't really think my drummer was all that different back then.
He knew of the Righteous Cleansing of the Duckmobile in which we smashed that car all to hell because, obviously to me, it was the only suitable means of dispatch for a worthy automobile. Prior to her dispatch, the Reverse gear had blown out and the only way to park was to find a hill so I could roll backwards to get to a position in which I could use Drive to escape. I think something else broke after that and there was no chance of getting such things repaired so there was only one answer remaining.
The Duckmobile had been custom-painted with a willing set of cohorts, all armed with only the best: enamel house paint. There you see the lovely result and this didn't precisely match the Ken Kesey hippie bus specification but even that it seems had to be twisted in some way.
The automobile gets its name from the Ski Duck on the hood and ...
Zen Yogi: it's not a duck but a bloody chicken, Silas!
So you may insist, my bear buddy, but that will only slow us down on the way to the story. It's a duck. Ha.
When the EldestNephew was quite young, I would greet him by wiggling my hands over my forehead as if a reindeer or some such. This became a tradition between us and we would return that reindeer wiggle whenever we saw each other. I have no idea why I did it but I'll blow it off with it's the kind of dumb ass thing uncles with no children may do and maybe it had something to do with him being the first since I didn't do it with the many nieces and nephews who followed.
He wasn't so much older as in still a teeny tiny but he became extremely ill and so much so he needed to go to hospital. I'm not sure how it came that I was there but so it went and I saw him looking so pale and so sick and it was devastating. I couldn't think what else to do which might be of any comfort so I threw him that reindeer wiggle.
I fell apart altogether when he threw that wiggle back with his tiny, feeble little hands. I had never really thought I was suitable for parenting but that moment was convincing along with the incredible toughness Doc and Mrs Doc were showing even while this had to have been ripping their guts up as well.
Not all stories from the aged and decrepit have to be mortifyingly embarrassing to the new generation which, in turn, has brought a new generation of its own. In the case of the EldestNephew, he has or soon will have three just as did his father. The Hope for everyone is he should do so well with his own in the same way.
He moved to Colorado and became the skier I had always hoped to be since he has phenomenal skills and has no fear. He also became an exceptional cook and, with men, that's often a neglected art but he saw it early and has thrived on it. To my own minor credit, I did learn cooking late and the joy of cooking something I liked just the way I wanted it and the even bigger joy in finding my company liked it as well.
There's a story of some kind behind cooking for a woman but I'll leave that for your consideration in your next idyllic moment since the EldestNephew already knows.
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