There's Also This

Look at us; we were both so young then.



At the time I did not actually play the guitar.

And now this has happened:



At the time I do not actually play the violin. But I am glad to have it.

Adeus, Vovozinho.

About Last Weekend

One expects to go back to the state of one's raising and bury his last remaining grandparent. But one is slightly surprised to bury said grandfather while said state is getting sideswiped by a fucking hurricane. As far as I can remember, not since 1991 and Hurricane Bob, and then just now twice in a month.

Also one doesn't expect the reemergence after a roughly three-year absence of the elder maternal uncle I widely refer to as a druncle. He's still a druncle. He at one point started giving me something between his opinion and his advice on the possibility of either him or me (or, I think, my dad) cockblocking one of my other uncle's friends and picking up his escort to the post-funeral gathering. (There's like this whole other story there that I won't go into, about the guy and his escort - I'm using the term to be polite, not suggestive - but I'll leave it alone.)

The day before the service my dad, uncles, and I went into the funeral home to make some final arrangements. We went in and found no one, and almost by accident stumbled into the darkened room where my grandfather's brief wake would be held; he was already there; for reasons nobody's quite sure about (other than that it was what he wanted, I suppose, which should really count for everything if you take that stance) there was an open casket. We weren't really ready for that. (Then we found one of the directors; he repeatedly referred to himself as [First Name Middle Initial Last Name The Third].) They look different when they've gone. I guess 85 years is a good long time.