bird by bird

Last weekend we had a true celebration of life for my Grandpa Don. His funeral was in January, but it was cold then--both in temperature and in expression--and we wanted his final send-off to be as warm as he was.  I wrote and delivered his eulogy, and though I only managed to squeak out the final paragraph between heavy tears, I felt so honored to get to tell his story. Here it is: Today I have the honor of talking about the grand life of my grandpa Don. This is the first eulogy I've ever given, and according to google, I'm supposed to start by introducing myself. So Hi, I'm Fritz. Or at least that is what Grandpa called me my whole life. He had nicknames for a lot of the people in his life--Squeaky, Pew-wee, Hoss, Pun'kin, Scooter, Cuddles, Money Bags, Sleeping Jesus, Super Stupid, BoBo and of course, Yogi. Although grandpa didn't have nick names for everyone, he did have a special relationship with everyone here. No matter what he called you, you were probabl

Last night as I was feeding Baby H a bottle at the dining room table, 2-year-old H asked me out the blue, "Where is your dad?" She had pasta sauce all over her face and up her elbows, and she had a cheese tortellini in each little hand. Without thinking I said, "He's out fishing." I hope that that's true somehow.