my local universe

Wow, I almost failed in posting here during the month of November. For about three quarters of the month (BTW I encourage the use of fractions in blog posts) my wife and I were on the road again. We didn't sing the Willie Nelson song but we should have. We weren't making music but were playing music with our family and friends.

• We walked a beach.
• I splashed in the Gulf of Mexico waves.
• We held the newest baby of our extended family.
• We enjoyed a Blue Angels air show.
• We toured a house that George Washington rented once.
• We were held up in traffic jams and confused by Google map directions.
• We samples shots that tasted like pancakes (an excuse to drink before noon).
• We learned historical stories from guides and my brother-in-law.
• We played a new board game with family.

the gulf of Mexico

Garbage collection with a great attitude

Blue Angels

wildlife

shit happens

I could spend more time and come up with other memories of the trip. I don't write travelogues.

I want to move on to a sadder event this month. Like everyone's little local piece of the universe there is good and bad in it. While my local universe was offering many enjoyable moments for me, it had some serious stuff waiting for my attention.

We got a few updates on my uncle's condition during the trip. I don't know, maybe it waited for me. After we settle back in at home, we got the news that my uncle had gone into hospice.

I have posted about my king-of-the-road uncle before. link (there's a good pic of him in that older post)

He is the last of my dad’s siblings. He doesn't live too far away but now his current holding area in only about 2 miles away. He is barely holding on. I visited him twice on thanksgiving (truly, he didn't realize this gave me a reason to duck out of the crazy T-day preparations at our house). I visited with him again today. He struggles to talk but I try hard to listen and prompt him for more.

Today he told me some golfing stories involving my dad and other uncles. He getting other visitors too.

I know we can't hold off what is coming. I don't believe we ever can. He's in his upper 80's. I feel good about my visits. I noticed a little chuckle from him during one visit. I try to make him comfortable. I know I'll miss him but I try hard to be upbeat during the visits. I'm very happy he can recall memories to share.

His beard is growing. I told him he looks like Lincoln. 

Then the jagged edge appears
Through the distant clouds of tears.
I'm like a bridge that was washed away;
My foundations were made of clay.

As my soul slides down to die.
How could I lose him?
What did I try?
Bit by bit, I've realized
That he was here with me;
I looked into my father's eyes.
My father's eyes.
I looked into my father's eyes.
My father's eyes.