...Four months since my last post. I know, I know, neglect is a form of abuse.
But I had some good reasons:
>>Starting school in my pursuit of my long-delayed Bachelor's (and this time, I don't intend to blow it);
>>My job spreading into the hours of my week like the Blob;
>>The gentleman I'm about to tell you about now.
He was born in Minnesota, July 21, 1939, the youngest of four siblings. He grew up with that famous Mid-Western work ethic - you want something, you work for it. Period. End of Sentence. Before he moved to California in the late 1950s, he worked with his father's water well-drilling business - any lessons about hard work were well-learned by this age. He served in the Navy, was married in 1960 at Santa Monica, CA, was stationed at Moffett Field in the South Bay Area, and eventually settled with his wife and newly-adopted son in San Jose. The house he and his wife purchased in 1969 is still in the family, 43 years later. He worked for the Post Office for over thirty years, often working six-day weeks at 10+ hours per day. (Ask any letter carrier what that kind of work entails - your moving, sorting, walking with heavy loads, driving, you name it.) Even after his retirement in the late 1990s, he still kept moving, doing handyman projects around the house (and the house his wife inherited from her family in Arizona), periodically visiting their Arizona house and his family in Minnesota. He was always physically active, lifting weights and taking walks regularly.
