My niece's dad died a couple weeks ago. 45 years old, died from a heart attack. He was from little Hucky's side of the family, so I didn't know him too well. He was divorced from the Mom, so I only saw him at drop-offs and pick-ups of the niece. He seemed like a good guy. A good Dad. A little goofy, a little ineffectual. A little baffled by the modern American landscape. I can relate.
He loved his daughter, certainly.
So it goes.
Hux went to the memorial, I stayed home with the girls, and when she got home she had 6 cases of beer in the car with her. The guy was a truck driver for a beer distributor, and got free cases of beer as a perk. Lots of it, apparently. During the memorial someone noticed the 20 or so cases of beer stacked behind the house, and they got divvied up among the relatives after things were said and done. All sorts of beers: honey browns, Red Stripes, amber lagers, pale bocks. Guinnesses, which we are saving for a certain blogger's husband. Chile beer, a vile undrinkable substance that I wouldn't feed to the cats.
The cases are sitting out on our front porch, no doubt drawing disapproving stares from the trio of well kept lawns across the street (Hux finally threw a tarp over them a few days ago, for the sake of decorum). Most evenings for the last couple weeks, Hucky and I will snag one or two promising flavors from the cases after work (I'm partial to the honey brown), stick em in the fridge, and enjoy them after supper. I try to throw out a silent nod of thanks upon my first sip, to the dead man who gave it to us. I don't always remember. Sometimes I do.
So, one more time, thanks for the beer.
Got an award from the ever ebullient Scarlett Wanderlust yesterday. It's over there on the sidebar, or will be when I get around to it. Thanks, Scarlett! Wander over and check out her site. She has a pet lion named Viaggiatore. He lives there too.
12 comments:
A very manly look at death, though I wonder about all the links and the picture. You're starting to post like a regular blogger.
Respectful beer drinking, now that's something :-)
Wow...kinda sad when your life is reduced to a few cases of beer. I'd rather be champagne at least.
I think that's a pretty good way to get remembered, at least until all the beer is gone.
45??! That scares me.
Why hello there. It's been too long, really. And I love Eric's comment. But I couldn't post regularly if my life depended on it because they would all be the same, praticaly every day...
Clowncar, for someone to have all that exotic beer whose g granddad once buried his home brew in the ash pile and had them explode while the sheriff was visiting; a;most poetic.
htat is a super way to be remembered - reminds of the descriptions of New Orleans style funerals where people revel and dance to celebrate your life.
I'm with Maggie...git you some Dixie Blackened Voodoo Beer, walk down the street with the band playing and dancing your heart out!
Yours was the first blog that I thought of for that award.
Looks great here. Pass it along to other kick ass bloggers now, we must share the wealth...
;o)
Scarlett & Viaggiatore
PS~ thanks for the props and for mentioning V, he's purring contentedly now...
Oh Mai Gawd. *lmao* That's excellent. It's also rather funny, because, truth be told, I've been planning a post titled something along the lines of "I'm Wearing A Dead Man's Clothes." I 'inherited' my wife's grandfather's extensive collection of (mostly blue) almost never worn polo shirts. Seems I'm the only man close to his size in the family, so I was the only candidate. NICE stuff too, but he trended to blues.
Yup, you've opened the door for THAT post, say thankee.
Yep, E, that great sucking sound you hear is me getting pulled into mediocrity.
All beer drinking is respectful, Vanilla. Of beer. Thanks for stopping by.
Moi, I don't think it was reduced to a few cases of beer for his daughter. Or the people who knew him. Just me....
Meno, it's an excellent way to be remembered. If you could make beer (or bourbon!) out of ashes, that's what I'd like served at my funeral.
45 scares the hell outta me too, Paula. A heart attack no less. Yikes.
Hey, Vic, glad to see you again! You could just post the same thing every day, day after day. It'd be lie a zen blog. Or maybe blog performance art.
Old one, I'm just folowing along in my ancestor's footsteps. Apples don't fall far from the tree.
Maggie, you grasp it perfectly. Celebration and remembrance. And beer.
Blackened voodoo beer sounds mighty tasty, Mona. Maybe that's what the mystery beer is?
Thanks for the award, SW. I'm too much of a newbie to give out awards, I think. Kind of presumptuous, since I'm the new kid on the block.
Can't wait, Irr. We could do a whole series of posts on dead men's stuff in our lives. Golf clubs. Baseball hats. Say thankee, old bean.
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