Here’s our intrepid father coming out of my 2 month blogging funk just in time to go to a funeral. My grandfather died last week. He was 87 years old. 87! I should be so lucky.
He served in the British Army in WWII, was awarded the highest honor the Boy Scouts have, and worked with mentally retarded children in the ministry of his church. Oh, and he also used to sing bawdy British drinking songs. I’m gonna miss him.
After his priest administered last rites, the family gathered around his bed and toasted him with Tetley’s British Ale. A friend came in a few moments later and asked my grandmother if she wanted some water. She looked up from her chair and answered, “No, I’ve got some beer here.”
A few minutes after that, my grandmother looked at Grampa, and stood over him fussing and saying, “He must be hot. Look at how much he’s sweating.” She starts wiping his forehead.
My father starts shaking his head and says, “Mom, that was the Holy Oil.”
More to come:
The Answers & Winner (finally) of this years Xmas Puzzle.
My friend Christopher, the Navy JAG stationed in Bagdad.
Getting ready for T-Ball season.
New pictures of little boys.
Stories about pee.
I know you are all here to read about that last one.
