Robert Frost, Jon.
Amended slightly.
Sorry, I should have credited him.
I'll raise a beer to another hobo.
Just spent two days with Willie, helping him get his home ready for a renter. Two days of packing, lugging, moving, scrubbing, banging, painting, spackling, vacuuming, buffing, wiping, polishing, shining, and wearing ourselves out.
It was great fun, though. Lot of talk, work, laughs, work, thoughts, work, and thoughtfulness.
At the end of it all, I got one hugely delicious steak, and got to sit on my tired *** and suck Lowenbrau while Willie did the honors.
The consumate host.
Here's what he's leaving behind:
The home:
The barn
The root cellar:
the silo: square outside, round on the inside, with three-foot-thick walls
and the master-craftman's and set-designer's workshop and studio:
and he's leaving all this behind for... the condo-life and the big-time job.
But what a challenge, and opportunity.
My wife and kids absolutely adored him. When I told my daughter Leah, 7, that he was moving to Florida, she started tearing-up, and went weeping to the redhead to tell her too. The boys, more stoic, said they were going to miss him.
And me, I will miss him too.
God speed, brother and fellow-miscreant. Keep yourself safe 'til we get together again.
And that was that.
Will's southbound and rolling.
Gone everywhere but home.
I made him promise, though, if he gets himself some little brown-skinned southern babe, to set up a damn camera and send us boys some pictures!
