In the mid-60's, when I was a tween and early teen, my family took a week each summer at a resort in the Adirondack mountains of New York state. It had the advantage that we could afford it on my father's teacher's salary (not much, in those days). It was run by a man I remember as kind but distant.
I've received his obit from my sister, and I'm taken with the many experiences in his life (baseball, military service, land speculation, two marriages of 20+ years each, children and grandchildren...), and the way that the people in his community knew about all these things, and knew him so well. It is partly my nature as a semi-recluse, I think, and partly my many moves (and my inability to keep contact with people I don't see on a regular basis), but I doubt I'll have an obit near as complete and detailed as his - nobody knows me as well as the writer (or the people who informed the writer) knew him.
It's an argument for more engagement with life now, isn't it?
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