Two Hours of Summer Remain

So I spent the last few days of summer touring the South. Had a brief stop in Richmond, Virginia and visited the confederate white house and the museum of the confederacy, not the most even-handed museum in the world. And I saw Rutgers defeat the University of North Carolina. There's something satisfying to be part of the obnoxious contigency from Jersey a little too into the game, in a sea of baby blue and very pleasant southerners. They all had their nice little children in cute little blue dresses and face paint, and a group of Rutgers fans was about to kicked out for banging on their precious metal signs and smoking cigars.

But in other news, my grandfather died this morning. He was the son of a German immigrant and spent most of his life in New Jersey, except for the war years. He met my grandmother at a local church, and married her the day before he left for the African front. They married in a little army base chapel somewhere in Arizona, with the only witness to the wedding being an organ player in pajamas with curlers in her hair (it wasn't the most elaborately planned ceremony, but I believe there were no arguments over centerpieces). My grandfather spent most of the war in Italy. He gained this love of opera there, because it was the only thing kept running and the only buildings left standing. I guess it was some kind of retreat from everything going around him. He was a postman there, and kept getting in trouble because he would never carry a gun. But as he said, "ah, I was never gonna shoot anybody."

After the war he kept on with the mail gig and became a civilian postman and had five children and a pretty big raspberry garden in a strong Christian family. He was always funny about giving money away, any Christian group that came asking he'd give a monthly donation; at one point he was donating to a native American tribe but couldn't quite remember its name. He was always kind and solid, I never remember him being mad ay anything or expressing a negative feeling in any way. Just always giving. The last year or so his health has been declining, not in any drastic way, just getting old. He went peacefully, at the age of 89, and still without a bitter feeling in his body. I guess the best way to put it is that Richard Mullins song, that when he looks back on the stars, it's like a candle light in central park, and it didn't break his heart to say goodbye.