On a Friday in 1961...

Victor, I think you've told this one before.

Give a break, give me a break, break me off a piece...'cause I was 9 then, 64 years ago.

Friday, 1961... cousin Joyce, then an 8th grader.  Science teacher say, "Go home this weekend, get a partner... comeback Monday with your idea for an invention for the future.

Her, partner, did. They proudly, creatively, drew up a picture of a 'portable phone' with a screen on it, and you could actuality see the person you were talking to on the other end. 

Hanna-Barbera you ain't got nuttin' on my cuz because your 'I can see you' video computer call on the Jetsons didnt happen until later on the 60's.

Teach collected the ideas... browsed through them... Tweren't 20 minutes later, teach, peering down with her eyes over her bifocals, incredulous look on her face, uttered, "Never happen.  Take a couple days, come back Wednesday with a realistic idea."

Bummer.

(Not so fast forward) "Sarah, ring me Aunt Bea please."

My Grandmother's Bible. She recorded historic events, births, snowfalls, yada, in the margins of he Bible: "1958... Darrell (my cuz), age 3, dialed his own phone number."

19-fitty-nine, a phone booth at a YMCA in Durbin, South Africa, 25, that's TWENTY-FIVE students stuffed themselves in a phone booth for the record.

"Hello"..  "Ralph?"  "No, sorry, this is Steve.. we've got a party line. Please hang up, call back, I won't answer, hopefully Ralph will."

"Honey, you GOTTA watch how long you talk to so-and-so in Texas, our long distance bill is $79.43 cents!" (Back then, hella lot.)

Pagers.

Bag phones

MOM!  She's STILL on AOL, I've GOT to make a phone call!

And Paul Harvey to today.

iPhones for you rich and famous, Androids for poor poor pitiful me's.

This and that. First cell call ever, April 3rd, 1973. First text message "Merry Christmas".  I was kinda hoping it was a Selfie Pic, along with the verbiage "See teach?! Toldya!"

We look at our phones 150 times per day, that's up from 80-something I'd Googled not too many years back.  Hell, think how the divorce rate might dwindle if only we looked at our spouse 150 times a day. (Ahm Victor?  Yes? Might have the opposite effect.)

Scooby Dooby Doo says "Rut Roh" as the vast majority of cell phones are made in China.

Nomophobia is an addiction to your cell phone.

I enjoy watching a Major League Baseball game... noticing THE person behind the catcher who looks at their phone more than the batter.  THEN, I go online, look at ticket prices for that specific seat in that specific stadium to see how much money she wasted. (MISOGYNIST!  AM NOT! ARE TOO! HOLY SH*T $347!!!

Ahm Victor? Pot, kettle? Ain't you the one I saw at The Landing a few nights back, drinking a $5 beer playing Sudoku on your phone?  Sorry,  can't hearya, we gotta bad connection.

I just called, to say, I love you.  867-5309. (Don't forget Junior's number BR-549). K, won't.  

Not to be confused with Beechwood 4-5789.   Operator. 

We're so sorry, Uncle Albert, but if anything should happen we'll be sure to give a ring.

Call Roto Rooter that's the name..

"Hello, baby!

Yeah, this is the Big Bopper speakin'!

Oh, you sweet thing!

Do I what?

Will I what?

Oh baby, you know what I like!"

This whole dayum blog idea went haywire. Original plan was to relate how Spectrum recorded me, during the sale of the wifi/streaming package they sold me for such and sucha a price. "Will it have FanDuel so I can watch The Royals?"  Uh huh.

Two boxes overnighted, a kajillion cords connected, two packs'a cigs during same, YEAH BABY, connected, cold one in hand, recliner reclined. Gametime, yeah baby!

Uh oh.

"Press 1 for English."

"I see you're calling from....is that the number on the account you're calling about?

YES.

"Allright, in a few words, please tell us why you're calling.  You can say things like 'tech support... billing..." I AINT GOT FANDUEL!

"I'm sorry, I didn't understand."  Representative". So I can connect you to the correct person.. could you, in a few words..  REPRESENTATIVE!

Please hold,  your aproximate wait time is 38 minutes.

So, first guy wanted $10 more a month.  Nuh uh, go listen to the recording, better yet, can I speak to your supervisor?

This is Lea.  How can I help you?  Pete, repeat, "recorded, promised FanDuel, I ain't got FanDuel."

"Well that's $10 more a month."

Please check the recording.

Victor. You are arguing over $10?  Uh huh, that's a 15-pack of Natty Light a month.

So. Sales reps. Manager Lea.  Now, her manager, whatever his name is. MISOGYNIST! AM NOT!

Stay tuned.

Item #7 on scavenger hunt: Take a picture of a phone booth. 'Wherethehell we gonna find onea those?'

Call me, we'll catchup.

Love, Victurd

Doc, it hurts when i do this...

Uh huh, sure... the pat answer is "Don't do that."  Cha ching, total cost to become a medical doctor nowadays in excess of $300,000.

Victor?  Don't say that!  Don't you know all the good doctors do? You don't know why we need them?

Of course I do. Then don't do that.  Don't say that.

Close your ears: I don't really like the word don't. 

Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign?

Yes, like every other wet behind the ears (we think, anyways, couldn't really see if they were wet) 19, 20-something redblooded dude in the 70's, I had long hair, wore them flared pants, thought I/we, were pretty cool.

May sound like a hippy, don't (there you go again), don't really think I was... .

But...  

The hippies learnt me disdain for the word, command, listen here Mister, (Hitleristic?), DON'T!.

It was them, the damn hippies! They always answered with "Why not?"

As I write this from Apartment #2 in this big ole house converted into 3 tiny apartments...had I been more compliant along the way (I think them hippies mentioned something about a brown nose) I'd prolly be living on Ward Parkway where the lots are bigger'n a football field and you'd need an 8-roll thinga toilet paper just so each bathroom had a roll.

Oh well.

Do not pass go. One Google thing said ya don't use don't in formal writing, you should use Do Not instead. Why not? Nevermind. 

Don't ask. Don't knock it till you tried it. Don't remind me. Don't touch that dial. If you don't mind me asking... (Cheech, or Chong, damn hippies, might say "But I do.")

Rock the boat, oh don't rock the boat (baby). 

Victor, I'm getting a bit dizzy what with all these don'ts. Don't interrupt me.

Don't go chasing waterfalls

Please stick to the rivers and the lakes that you're used to

I know that you're gonna have it your way or nothing at all

But I think you're moving too fast.

But I like waterfalls. Don't, er.. try not to lecture me.

Don't bring me down. Don't worry, be happy.

Don't give me that. Don't ask. I don't have all day. Don't you dare.

SIR! Don't do that!  You only get ONE glass for Communion! Hiccup.

Don't play the music SO LOUD!

BITE ME:  Don't go breaking my heart.  Don't stop me now. Don't let me down. Don't stop the music. Don't stop. (That's a song by Fleetwood Mac... hippy might ask "Don't stop WHAT?")

Victor, DON'T tell that one again.

Bite me.

1993-ish. T ball. 7, 8 yr Olds.  I was the head "No, don't do that, your left hand goes on the bottom of the bat, not the right", head coach.

My assistant. Nice dude. Vice President of our local, small, faith based college . Quiet man. He wanted no part of forefront.

His son Buzzy, not so much.  Buzzy was cuter than Mikey Likes It, Theodore Cleaver, Pebbles OR Bam BAM. Big ole brown eyes, smile as wide and perty like an upside down rainbow.

Buzzy was ADHD before they ever abbreviated it to match the attention span.

He was in right centerfield. Well, at least till the next batter, then he was over in leftfield high fiving him. The "I wanna remain inconspicuous" dad, Dan... eeked out "Buzzy, dont do that, get back in right center."

Buzzy, the walking, talking energy drink was oblivious. Next better found him giving a quick spank on the hiney of the first baseman.  Dad Dan upped the 'font size' by one, "Buzzy! Don't!"

Didn't phase ole Buzz. Next three batters found him pulling 3rd baseman Kaylee's hat down over her eyes... doing a Chinese fire drill around the leftcenter fielder, and finally, running to second base only to lay down and cover up the base so the batter-runner couldn't touch it.

Dad Dan, sweating pretty profusely, upped his game...

BUZZY! DON'T!... then, BUZZY! DON'T!.. then finally BUZZY!  DON'T... OR ELSE!

It felt, to Dan, like half our small town was watching. There were a lot of us and we all were on our feet, trying to keep from laughing at Buzzy's antics..  but also on pins and needles awaiting Ole Buzz's response to OR ELSE!

It finally came.  OR ELSE WHAT  DAD?

I peed a bit, but that's normal for me.  Most entertainment I'd ever had at a ballgame.

The roar of 'I can't hold the laughter anymore' covered up Dad's response.

I think... original hippies like Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Cheech, Chong woulda loved that.

Don't you?

Love, Victurd

Passion

Pervert.

This ain't no kiss and tell kinda.  I mean, after all it's been since.. VICTOR!  STOP!

Ah damnit, you're supposed to say "DON'T STOP!", no comma.

I'm kidding I'm kidding.

This ain't about that kinda passion.... well, I guess it could be, but that wasnt uppermost in thought.

I. Love. Passion. In. People.

Situations. 

College game day on TV. Young'ns proudly displaying the colors, name, mascot of their institution, shaking, frantically waving their 'we're #1' finger, basically what some might call, "acting a fool."

Been there. Loved that.  Band camp, I think I was a fraternity pledge. Campus of Billy Jewell, old Brown Gym, 

barely enough room for a court, let alone bleachers. I had to (got to) wear a gorilla costume.

I remember running, doing a flip (ie, amped up cause I don't think I knew how to turn a flip.) Once landed, I wasn't sure if I was staring North, East, unsure of exactly where (which side) I came running from. This much I remember. Passion. (It's was 'Hell Week', it mighta had something to do with the two warm Buckhorns the 'actives' forced me to chug prior, ain't sure.)

Bottomline, or hell,  could be top line, I wasn't sure if I was on my hands or my feet: Yum. Passion. All important. 

Sports. There's passion in sports. No, there ain't no such thing as 110% effort... win one for the Gipper, maybe. I recall a basketball coach, team was sluggish, jogging, not offering great effort. "Time out."

The 5 on the court came to the sideline. Coach told 'em to stare at the 7, seated in chairs. "Now you, tell me, howintheheck am I to justify lollygagging, jogging back on D, getting beat to the baseline, to these 7 sitting here?" (Put me in Coach, I'm ready to play. Today. Look at me.

Oh yeah, that's a song.

We've talked passion in sports. Oh baby, is there passion in song. Music.

Those on stage..   first comes to mind, women-belter-outers. Joan Jett, "Singing, I love rock and roll, so put another dime in the jukebox baby, I love rock and roll, so come and take your time and dance with me, Ow!

Mebbe Chrissie Hynde, The Pretenders, and:

Gonna use my arms, 

Gonna use my legs,

Gonna use my style, 

Gonna use my sidestep,

Gonna use my fingers,

Gonna use my, my, my imagination.

Yum. Passion. Total brain concentration on the moment, I don't give a damn what else is happening.  ("We're gonna be late for church... the toast is burning!... the dogs gotta pee") NOT TILL AFTER THIS SONG IS OVER!  YUM!!!

Sorry, kinda, not really.

(At this very moment, I have a candle lit. If I have to pee, I take my phone with me - flashlight) Mother Nature is PO'ed about sumpin, power out all about town, THUNDER THUNDER, THUNDERATION.  Holy guacamole,  there is passion in WEATHER!.

Back to sports for a second. Parents of Littles. How fun. Moms (or dads) in lawn chairs.  Next time you take in a little league came, take a listen.  I bet you'll hear a parent repeat something like "Keep your eye on the ball Jimmy, eye on the ball." "Bat on the ball, bat on the ball, Gabe."... "Why?  They say things, twice, not sure why. They say things twice, not sure why. Lost, completely lost in passion, and I love it.

Little Johnny called out on strikes. Dad, "Keep em up ump, keep em up." Ie, I'm passionate that you blew the call, I'm an accountant by trade, but I know better'n you.

How did Austin Powers put it? YEAH, BABY!

Passion gives us momentary break away from blue, rue, woe, not enuff dough, 3 regular tires and a donut, a flunked spelling test, no pay raise on evaluation day, yada....crap.

"Put me back on hold please, I really liked that song."

Sure, love. Politics. Our kids, family. Hounds and kitties, friends, a cause, the Bible, quilting, decoupage, yada, much.

Passion lends good reason to be here, to enjoy, smile, love, breathe.

"Worked hard all my lifetime, no help from my friends, so Oh Lord, won't you buy me, a Mercedes Benz?  That's it!" (Cackle)

Right Janis?  Passion is life, we gots to live it thataway, recognize it, appreciate it.

Put another dime in the jukebox baby.

Love, and marriage...

No, that ain't it..  sorry Peg, sorry Al.

Love and passion, Victurd

"I played high school football!"

Paul Harvey... Good day

The rest of the story...

Whenever we roll outta bed, or, in my case, waddle - if that's a word, we are everpresent in creating our own the rest of the story.

So few, really really know the rest of the (our) story.

Naturally, I think suffice to say, I personally am so thankful for those few who truly, really really know, me.

Those who might say words like "self-care", as in, take care of yourself... they wing superlatives, and, send genuine love when they say, "I disagree with you on that. "

You there, Yeah you. .. who are your "they really really know you's"?  Larry? Terry?  Pup?  Tip? Joyce, Liz? Vicki? David? Bear? Pie? Susan? Jeanne? Big'n? All'a'ya. (If I missed ya, you're in thst 'All'a'ya'!

Rewarding ain't it?

The "to the moon", "got'yer back" kind.

Today is the first day of the rest of our Lives. Or, as we MIZ-ZOU fans might rejoice after yet another KU loss, hearing Bill Self say "We're 0 and 0 now."

Who areya...

Where ya gonna go...

Whadda ya gonna do...

Are you gonna be a harbinger of love, smiles,  hugs, fun, smartass remark,.... or, an occasional sourpuss like me?

Spread the love baby!

Smile, even if your teeth are smokestained yeller like mine!

Pet a dog (their rest of the story is even shorter than ours.)

Sell a Lincoln. Huh? Just seeing if L&L is still awake!

Boost, if you see down.

Hesitate, before them words sneak out. Weigh. Think.

That's all I got today.

I'm off to work on the rest of the story, which of course begins at the john to pee.

Love peace and soul... for the rest of the story.

Good day

Victurd Harvey 

Braking news...

There's somethin' happening here.. 

No, that ain't it.  

Well, kinda sorta.

If you're old, like me. Number one, you're blessed.  Number two. (It's the coffee, BRB) I'M JOKING! RELAX!

Secondly, (how's that?) it seems our land (Remember? This land is your land, this land is my land, from California to the New York Island)... our land, has these moments, periods - where, its kinda like an old LP album, ya get to a certain point, it's bound to SKIP, SCREETCH, NONSTOP, YEEOUCH. 

EVERYONE HOLDS THEIR EARS.... OMG's happen and they ain't abbreviated...

To compensate, we all scream at the toppa our lungs.  Hell, it's no wonder, once we hit SS age, all them damn Beltone flyers show up in the mailbox, we canardly hear.

We, they. Both sides, yes, preach to the choir. It just don't work. It's like tryin' ta run but there ain't no laces in your tenny boppers. 

Sure, each side holds the their side up, but(t), once we stand up, try to start'a runnin', spoutin'-toutin', we ain't gots no belt in our pants and we literally, physically, figuratively show our ass, by cracky. A nation of plumbers, your side, my side, we're all a hollerin' but no one is roto rootering the drain.

 Calgon, take me away. Gimme a break, gimme a break, break me off a piece'a the Kit Kat bar. Two tickets to Paradise perty please. Dudeism some bowler once called it.

Not long ago I bored you with the story of my retired school Superintendent buddy... how 'Establish culture' was key to his beginning days in a new school district. TBC.

He spoke of visiting the bus barn, third day on the job... folks were'a laboring away, mechanics, drivers, supervisors, clerical staff, with smile, with music, THEN, it stopped. The damn LP started sticking, skipping, screeching, metafour...ah, metaphor....hmmnn...kinda sorta.

He went to the manager and asked, "What happened?".... "Well, you're here."

Light bulb. A week later, two dozen donuts it tow, he visited them ON BREAK, talked, laughed, learned he was'a human just like them, got to know each others families, likes, wants, dreams. The debris, grease, whateverinthehell it was in the LP album was removed.  

The Fob to culture began.

I feel it coming "Pasture Schultze" (please note the spelling) you're gonna preach aint'ya?  

Mebbe.

Braking News (please note the spelling.)

You (we too) deserve a break today, so get up and get away...

Put the lime in the coconut,  take a drive in the country.

Text your BFF a joke.

Crank a favorite tune. Visit the gravesite of a loved one. 

Swing on the porch swing. Ain't got one? Buy one. Spend a couple hours with Andy, Barney. Ope, Hoss, Ben, Lil' Joe.

Put in earbuds and whip up a meatloaf, or pecan pie.

Phone a friend. Is that your final answer?  NO.

Brake, take breaks often.  

I dunno about you, but my experience in virtually every job I've ever had, THE BEST times were when we were not on task but on break. Letting our hair down, laughing at ourselves, complimenting, confiding, asking for or giving advice (when asked for it.)

Yum. A dozen donuts. Nature's Xanax.

Temporarily "Take this job (life, skipping LP, we/they, protest this, did you see, hear that? Can you believe what so and so said? Patooey and shove it." At least while we're on break.

Vacation. Staycation. Sudoku. Hell, even Farmville.

Do sumpin, anything, occasionally,  when the record skips.

I personally am considering a girls trip. No no no. I just wanna tag along!  Aintya heard, girls just wanna have fun.

Braking News from the real Breaking News.

Don't forget the baby aspirin. 

Love, Victurd

U...U

vacUUm sucks.  Sometimes life sUUcks.  Death sUUcks even worse.

UU don't. 

Yesterday was the celebration of life for our 39 year old son. I honestly never ever lost my faith in mankind. 

Strangely, I liken this whole thing to bowling. UUs family members hurting, were in no mood to get up, take our turn back in the game of life.

I, we, don't know how our friends do it, but yoUU are, have been, the bUUmper rails for gUUiding UUs back down, ahead to, the path of life. 

From the day my, our son expired, yoUU friends, loved ones, have been incredible. Example setters.

Age 39. Way too young, of course.  Wonderful, seeing, hearing from Dru's buddies that played in the yard, on the baseball field, basketball court.. sat next to our son in school.. clocked in at work along side him.

Death sUUcks, no way around it.

We, obviously, are not at the wheel.

Your behavior, heart, tears, graciousness, hugs are exemplary for us as we all go forward.

Life, living is so, so good.

Be a vacuum. Suck up the good, ya just never know. We can steer all we want, but we're not at the wheel in regard to the timing of our destination. As we go forward, empty the collected ugly we find enroute into the trash.. then jump back up there 'tween the bumper rails of goodness.

We thank you for your love.

UU, are remarkable.

For your buddy to read at funeral pretty please..

This is Dru's father.  I think I can speak for his mother and I in that we have been gratefully overwhelmed by the kindness, phone calls, texts,  emails, messages, cards, letters, hugs, shoulders to lean on, offers of "if you need anything" and generosity of all.. friends, loved ones, etc.  Thank you, thank you, very much. A special shout out to the Ladies Golf League at the Club of Marimack - you're awesome.

We, as parents, recently joined a club no one in the World wants to belong to.  A few of you knew Dru pretty well, some of you a little bit, and certain there are some here who maybe just kinda knew Dru, so let's go back.  

July 3rd, 1985, Dru arrived to this World just in time for The World Series.

Biased, but cute little guy. Before he could even talk, if we did something he didn't like, he made a sound like the buzzer at the end of a basketball game - so, we started asking him "What does the buzzer at the end of a basketball game sound like?" And he'd comply with the noise.

Age 7, I think it was...MASSIVE snowstorm in Liberty, MO. 10? 12? Inches?

"Mom? Dad?. Can you take me to Jesse's?" (His cousin, 5 blocks to 291, cross the four lane highway, another 4 blocks to Jesse's.)  "NO, of course we can't.

Question, request was asked it's kid normal 7, 12 times, each met with NO.

"I'm going out to play then." We, eyeballing 4 others on sleds, building snowmen, yada, "OK."

Checked a bit later. All good. 

Not even 20 minutes later, phone rang.. a mostly frantic sister inlaw on the other end (the one that lives 5 blocks to 291, four lanes across the highway, another 4 blocks) "DRU JUST SHOWED UP AT OUR DOOR!" It's a wonder we weren't hauled in for child endangerment.

That, is kinda a microcosm of my, our son's life.

Summer, age 9. Third day after the school year ended, broke his right wrist. For a sports crazy baseball loving right hander, devastation. By week two, he was shooting free throws lefthanded WAY BETTER than his naturally lefthanded father ever did.

The next year, coming home after work only to be met at the door of 305 Lee Drive by a cute little blond kid, ball bat and glove in hand.

Our son was a foot or so shorter, at that age, than his buddies. We went. Bucket after bucket of fly balls, ground balls, batting practice. I'm talking SMTWTFS.

We'd go, hit a ton of fly balls to this little bitty dude in the outfield. Due to that size, and the height of the fly, sometimes folks would stop and watch in amazement, as time after time the little guy measured the depth, height, right or left, and it would fall gracefully in his glove. Sure, proud poppa, but, just telling it like it is, it was fun to watch.

A favorite memory is of us, his travel league 7th grade basketball team, and we had FINALLY made it to the championship game of a tournament. Eleven of us, nine kids all sizes and color, another dad, and I, right before the game, crammed into whatever the 6 seat clunker it was I was driving at the time - and drove around and around and around the middle school parking lot with Queen's "We Are the Champions" totally cranked. Happy. It was happy, FUN.

We lost the game, but I think can tell ya 11 people who will never forget that.

Dru loved much.  Cheese.  Cheese pizza.  Chicken. Movies.  Playstation 2. History.  Swam like a fish. Got darker than the Coppertone lady in the Summer.

I hasten to list his best buds for fear of missing some, so apologies if I do.... Jay, Mel, DC, Teoppalious, Jesse Reece, Rodney, Jess Bogner, Clifton, Jason Chrisp, Albert, Logan, Jeff Tubbs... and of course his brother and his cousins.

Back To School Night, 1st grade.  We got home, he looked at me disgustedly and said "You're the oldest dad in my class!"  I wish he had learned his financial acumen from his mom, but, he surely got it from me.  For example, he'd cash his paycheck, "Take me to McDonalds please"....a Triple Cheeseburger, Large Fry and a Large Dr. Pepper later, we're at $15.87.  As the week wound down and payday was a couple days out......."How bout you hook me up with that McDonald's app buy one get one sausage biscuit?"

Dru loved fun. I think he learned fun from his Granny Rose Marie.  Teasing. Bantering.  Daughter Aubrie was "Rosey", Bella was lovingly 'Chunk Dog', and Kendal (and I) were not fans, but he called us each "Fat boy".  I was also Shay, OG and Pops.

He was a neat freak.  The husband who did all the cleaning, sweeping, mopping, dishes.  Every job he ever had, he was the hardest worker among 'em.  He possessed incredible strength for his size

Fiercely loyal, he displayed via tattoo the names of his departed Aunts Nancy and Vanda, Uncle Buddy and Granny Rose on his body.  He loved his mom like crazy, she earned a spot in ink and she's still here. Payday, he would take his check to the bank... come back to the car.. "I've gotta stop and get something for mom." Mother/son relationship. What better?

His heart was huge for critters.  As recent as a week or so ago, he smiled, looked at me and asked "Whaddaya think JC (a cat we owned 20+ years ago) is doing now?...How 'bout Figgy?"

Thankfully, he grew up in a household, in an extended family where there was no fear of using the word love, and man did he, we use it.  He also, would be silently sitting with me, or any loved one... a hand would reach our shoulder and three love pats, saying without saying, would happen. With great frequency, unprompted, he'd pass out "I love you"s.

He had some 'very soon to do' bucket list items that didn't come to fruition.  A night at the Elms.  Getting a hotel room with a pool, yummy hot breakfast for he and his three kids in Topeka.  He wanted to start going to the First Baptist Church in Liberty

Most most most of all............. He loved his children.  I found a note he'd penned recently, addressed to them, he had intended to deliver...........

"Aubrie Rose  (and Kendal and Bella)...

I love you with all my heart and soul. The day you were born, I held you with one hand.  December 30, 2010, it was 63 degrees out!  My favorite day of all time!  You were so small but still so beautiful.  You were Daddy's girl from Day One.  Your first day of kindergarten, you didn't want me to put you down. You made friends fast. You were a Girl Scout, I was SO proud!  Then, your brother Kendal comes along, 

A house divided?  No!  You, Mom, Kendal, Dad, one big loving family. You and Kendal have been buds, then, Ms. Bella comes along and we made 3.

Kendal, you dance your cute little booty off!  Us three would play soccer everyday the weather allowed. Bella really just bounced around on the swings.  Kendal you've come a long ways, from kickball to soccer.  Plus, you're dope on X-Box.  I love you guy, with all my heart.

Bella, my heart angel world.  We communicate without even talking.  You just get it.  

All three of you will run the World!  Just remember that Dad loves you and gave you all he had.

Love, Daddy.

Bottomline, there was a wonderful gleam in his eye each and every time he got to see any of his kids.

That bucket list was, at least temporarily interrupted on March 17th, 2025, St. Patty's Day.

That day, Dru left to go UP THERE.  So many to go, see, visit.  Buddy, Nancy, Vanda... Grandpa Bill, Granny Rose, Grandpa Bud.. first stop though was to his Grandma Velma.  It was her birthday.

We love and miss you Dru.