Go Bucks!

I was blessed enough last night to be able to watch the Ohio State Buckeyes play in the Alamo bowl on TV. That was probably the best the team has looked all year.

Early in the year, I was very unimpressed with the team. They were barely beating teams like Troy State and Cincinnati. I predicted about 4 or 5 losses. Well, at mid-season, it looked much worse than that They already were about 5 and 3 with the tough part of the Big 10 schedule coming up.

But good ol’ Jim Tressel righted the ship and the Bucks won 5 of their last 6 games, including a thumping of Michigan. They then finished off the season with a beating of Oklahoma State.

Next year, barring injury, this is easily a top 10 team.

A good night it was!

-Tomorrow night (New Year’s) I’m heading out on the town to celebrate. I’m looking forward to see how different/similar they celebrate it here.

-I started reading the Michael Chrichton novel Airframe yesterday. I love reading his books and this one has me hooked already.

Update on the score. We have a new contestant, too: Joe S 6, Ang 6 (Credit only for one on the 29th), Sis 4, Sis-in-law 3, Tara 3, Pops 2, Heather S 2, Carly 2, Sarah 2, Chad 1, Me 1.

Wow, I’m really slacking. I’m in last place.

***Remember to keep my friend Paul, his family and his Brother-in-law in your prayers. They are still trying to find out information.

Prayer Request

Got the following prayer request from my friend Paul. I love him like a big brother. I want to pass it on so more can pray for it. Bren (Brenda) is his wife:
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Hi Eric,

Prayer request.

Brens brother was in Thailand when the wave hit. Hecalled us that night and said he was OK, but we havenot heard from him since.

Today, we found his name on a hospital list there.

His name is Steve Gill, please pray for him.

Thanks - In Christ,

Paul
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OK folks, add him to your prayers!

Another Update

Being random again…

-The Browns were playing the Dolphins on Sunday night football on ESPN. I had the night off but decided to spend the night on-base so I could watch it on American TV, since the military channel was carrying it. Wow. I would have been better served playing chicken on the highway or something. It was one of the worst displays of football I think I’ve ever seen.

-3 weeks until I come home!

-More pictures are up on my site. Click here to see all of them.

-I read Paris Hilton is one of Barbara Walters’ 10 most fascinating people of 2004. I can think of other more suitable adjectives than fascinating for Ms. Hilton. But I’ll leave what those words are to your imaginations.

-For a good Christian living book, read Blue like Jazz by Donald Miller. I don’t agree with everything in it but was able to relate to a lot of it, especially the parts about living alone and giving everyone unconditional love. Truth is, a lot of the love I give IS conditional.

-I had a hit here on the blog from Power Pulse, Cocos (Keeling) Islands. I don’t know who it is but I googled it to find out where it was. It’s Australian Islands in the Indian Ocean…not too far from where the tsunami hit. Would love to know who this is and if there is anything we can do for you.

-Update on the comments score: Joe S 6, Ang 5, Sis 3, Sis-in-law 3, Pops 2, Heather S 2, Carly 2, Tara 2, Chad 1, Me 1

Update

OK, it’s been about a week. It’s just been tough to find time and get to a computer to be able to do anything more than Email lately. No big long stories to tell but just some random thoughts:

-I’ve taken X-Mas for granted the past few years. I just can’t get into the “Christmas Spirit.” I get tired of the constant Christmas music and having Christmas shoved down my throat all the time. Well, this year has offered me some perspective. I’d actually really like to be at my parent’s place and have Ma drive me crazy with the non-stop Christmas music.

-Other Eric left this past Thursday morning. We pulled another, much milder, all-nighter to send him off. I’ll miss him but I have his Email and we’ll keep in touch. H is just a fun guy to hang around with.

-I have about 25 more days left here. I’m really enjoying it. I practice speaking Spanish to my Spanish co-workers.

-Many Spanish here don’t seem to get married until they get about my age or older. We have about 8 Spanish girls (and they are gorgeous) working in our Pax section. Almost all have boyfriends that they’ve been dating for at least 3 years, are living together but they aren’t married. I’ve talked to a few of them and it seems there are a few reasons:

Weddings are big and expensive. They don’t want to have to spend a lot of money on it.
People tend to wait until they can buy a house and make many big purchases until they get married.

-I feel like I’m smoking a pack of cigarettes a day here. *Everyone* here smokes. The military folks I work and hang out with and most of the Spanish. So I’m always inhaling second-hand smoke. I now have what I think is a smoker’s cough. It stinks. And my throat is always sore. I’ve not gone out the past two days and have tried to avoid the smoke. I’m starting to feel a bit better. But the constant smoke around here is something I won’t miss.

-I will miss the Spanish people though. Europeans don’t normally see eye to eye with what I think traditional American values and attitudes are. They’re reaction to the Madrid bombings is a prime example. Most Americans, when they are punched in the face, will turn around and punch back. It’s what we do. Not Europeans. They just want to avoid the next punch. So I’ve had a few really good discussions about the differences and why I think America is a great country. Certainly not perfect or even close but a great country. They have been good conversations that have allowed both of us to get a good feel for the other person’s point of view.

So to end, enjoy your time with your family and friends this Christmas season. I miss ya all and love you all. God Bless.

Another day

Still nothing new. Glad to know my story had a couple people going.

One of the struggles for me here is my nights off are Sunday and Monday nights. Those are dead nights here in town and most of the folks I hang out with are off on other nights. So I'm trying to move my schedule a bit so I can head into Sevilla or other places a bit more.

Not sure if I will get to see too many places like Barcelona, Madrid or Lisbon. Just depends. I'm going to try.

Oh yeah, and I get to work on Christmas and New Years.

Here's an update on the score:

Joe 5, Ang 4, Pops 2, Sis, Heather S, Carly and Tara all with 1.

Bad boys...bad boys...watcha gonna do...?

Sorry I’ve not written in a few days. I’ve been battling with the Chest Cold from Hell ™ and getting my butt kicked royally. It’s been terrible. I can’t sleep because as soon as my breathing gets a little bit deeper, I start coughing uncontrollably. I just spent the days in bed, trying to get some rest. Monday, I finally went to Sick Call and they gave me a nice cocktail of drugs to try. I can finally feeling it kick in today (Tuesday).

So, because of that, I don’t have a whole lot to write about. I did promise my story of being tracked down by Interpol.

For those that don’t know, Interpol is an International Police Organization that tracks down fugitives. They typically track down fugitives who flee into other countries or terrorists.

We got home from our all-nighter on Wednesday and Pat and Other Eric got something to eat at the hotel restaurant. I went to the room and hit the bed. About 10 minutes later, Pat walks in and says there are two cops at the front desk asking for me.

I asked him if it was cops from the base or Spanish cops. Pat said it was Spanish cops. I had no idea what it was about. I was racing in my mind to recall what we’d done the night before. None of it was illegal unless Spain has some new laws I’ve never heard of. So I got up, grabbed my wallet with my ID and walked down to the front desk. Sure enough, there are two armed Spanish cops at the desk, along with a hotel employee. I was starting to get a little worried.

The hotel employee told me that when we checked in, they submitted our names to the Interpol database and my name came up flagged. So the Spanish cops were here to check it out.

I looked at the sheet of paper that they brought with them and it had the name Erik Kristian Moyer, with a birthday in 1964 on it. I knew that wasn’t me so I took out my military ID and showed it to them. They looked at it, discussed it among themselves and set it back down. I was getting more worried.

The hotel employee told me they wanted another form of ID, so this time I took out my Ohio Driver’s license. They looked at this and nodded in agreement. They picked up my military ID and then motioned for me to turn around. I asked why. The hotel employee looked at me with a very serious face and said that I should do as I am told.

I got a little incredulous at this point. I mean, I’ve been up ALL night, just got into bed and they come in and get me out. I showed them my ID and I clearly wasn’t the one they were looking for. Why all the trouble? I motioned for the Spanish cops to look at my ID again and pointed out to them where my name was different from the guy they wanted, along with the birthday. They didn’t like that at all. The one closer to me grabbed me by the left shoulder and slammed me pretty hard against the wall and held my left arm behind my back. Then I felt the snap of the handcuffs on my left wrist. They grabbed my other arm and snapped the cuffs on my other wrist.

I was alternating between terrified and pissed, now. Terrified because I have no idea what is going on and pissed off for pretty much the same reason.

I was yelling out, at this point, that I was not the guy they wanted. There had been a mistake of some sort. I’d only been to Europe one time before and it was just for 1 day, 10 years ago.

It felt like I was in a Spanish episode of COPS. Police rough-housing with a suspect? Check. Suspect yelling out in pain? Check. Suspect yelling out that they had the wrong guy? Check. Lobby full of on-lookers? Check. The only things missing was I was wearing a t-shirt instead of a wife-beater and my common-law wife screaming at and attacking the cops.

Since I wasn’t going quietly, the Spanish cops felt the need to make a point. I felt my legs go out from below me and I was slammed down on the floor, chest first, with the side of my face hitting the floor, too.

I still didn’t know what is going on.

They proceed to try to drag me out the front door. Well, after waiting too darn long, my friends decided to get involved and try to stop them. I appreciated it but it probably wasn’t the right move. The cops are pulling on me from the front by the shoulders (since my hands are cuffed behind my back) and my friends have me by the legs. Each side pulling harder. The cops pulling my shoulders, my friends pulling my legs…kinda like I’m pulling yours right now. OK, most of that was made up

The beginning of the story was true though. The Spanish cops did show up because my name was flagged in the Interpol database. But after seeing my ID, they were convinced I wasn’t the one they were looking for and politely said goodbye.

I then turned around and went back to bed.

But if I told you that story, it wouldn’t have been terribly interesting, would it?

Miercoles

I changed shifts with someone so I could go out with Pat and Other Eric on Wednesday night. This is the first time the 3 of us had a chance to go out together since Thanksgiving. We figured we would go to Moron, which is the small town where we are staying now; the same place we went on Sunday night.

I got off work at 10 PM and got back to the hotel. After cleaning up, I met the other 2 in the lobby and we headed downtown in Pepe’s Cab. Once we got there, it was a disappointment. Nothing was open and hardly anyone was out. It felt like the opening weekend of…

We were obviously pretty upset. There was nothing to do and it was only midnight. We stopped in a little café for a beer and to discuss what to do. We ended deciding that paying 60 Euros to get to Sevilla, 45 minutes away, would be worth the investment.

So we called Pepe’s Cab again. Our plan was to try to get him down to 50 Euros. That didn’t go to well. So, in the end we haggled him all the way down to 60 Euros.

We had him drive us to Sevilla and drop us off over by the Cathedral area. Pat took us to Flaherty’s which is an Irish pub where a lot of foreign nationals hang out. We were standing by the bar in the back and there were four girls to our left. One of them was dancing to Madonna’s “Vogue” and lip-syncing it as well. No, it wasn’t Ashlee Simpson.

We all smiled and laughed at her, which was her invitation to come over to talk to us, I guess. She was about as drunk as drunk can be. She and her friends were all Irish and she, Shannon, had been there drinking since 4 AM. She was mildly entertaining and she and Other Eric and Pat spent the next 5-10 minutes seeing who could insult who the most with Pat making references to potatoes and Other Eric telling her to get the “f” out of here (He thought she’d yelled some swear words at him). I made my way over to talk to the other Irish girls. They were better looking anyway.

We hung out with the Irish girls for about an hour or so. One of them was a student at the local university and the others were friends visiting from Ireland. Some things I learned from them:

-They hate it when American say “Oh! My ancestors are from Ireland.” Not sure what we are supposed to do since most Americans seem to have some distant Irish blood in them.

-They hate President Bush. But that wasn’t a surprise. I didn’t even bring it up. They did.

-My Irish accent sucks but I do a really good Scottish accent.

They ended up leaving and we found some British (and one South African) folks at the table behind us. They were a great bunch, along with two attractive women (bonus). We ended up talking to them until the pub threw us out. After leaving, we all decided to go to a local dance club called La Cathedral. Upon getting there, Mav, the South African, said he had to get up at 6 AM for work and it was already 3. And since he was everyone’s ride, they all left together. But, of course, not before the women gave us their numbers (I got Kerri-Ann’s).

After they left, we went into the club (12 Euro cover charge!). It was a great club. A lot like the nicer ones in the states. And it was playing American music, not that Techno crap. I hate techno. We hung out there for another hour or so. While we were there we ran into some other Americans who played professional basketball in Spain. They kind of stood out, being very tall and black, in Spain. Being shorter and white (and properly dressed this time), I didn’t stand out as much.

Upon leaving there, we went to another club. But that is another story for another time.

Here’s a teaser for you. My next blog posting will be about the Spanish police showing up at the hotel the morning we got back from this night out, because my name came up on an Interpol (International Police) wanted list.

And for those keeping score (me), the current score in the comments contest (winner gets a free t-shirt and maybe more if I can get out to shop some): Angela 2, myself 1, Heather 1, pops 1 and Carly 1. It’d be depressing if I won.

Night out

Last night I got to enjoy Spain, not as an American but more as a Spaniard.

Saturday they moved a group of us off base to a local town. Last night, Other Eric and I decided we were going to go downtown late and see what we could find.

We had some wine with some others in the hotel lobby before leaving. Once again, all I know is that it was red…but, again, it was good.

One of the Master Sergeants (MSgt) I work with sat down with us. This guy is a piece of work. He talks to hear the sound of his own voice. We were arguing over something going on at work. He’d try to make his point, which was basically, “But that is too hard! We shouldn’t have to do it!” I would then make my point “It’s the military. Grow up, grow a pair and do what they tell you to.” And he’d go right back to complaining like I hadn’t said a thing. I now have an idea of what it is like parenting a teenager.

He got up for a second and Other Eric said “As soon as this bottle of wine is gone, we’re out of here.” I nodded my agreement. We finished up the bottle and took the first opening in the conversation to stand up and say “We’ll, we’re going downtown. Bye.”

We had a rental car and drove it down town. This is what they called a mid-size. The only difference between this and the compact we drove to Rota was this one had a trunk that could be used to store the body of Verne Troyer in it, but only if we folded him up.

We parked it and started walking around. We heard some loud music coming from down one of the roads off the main drag so we followed it. It was about 2200 (10 PM). We found the music…and about 150-200 14-17 year-olds.

I know I’ve talked to many people about the way girls dress in the US. In fact, I even blogged on it once, here. But Spanish girls take the prize. These girls were dressed like prostitutes. Skirts that stopped at the bottom of the butt cheek were the popular item. We were a bit bothered mainly because our ideal evening didn’t included hanging around people our age.

So we wandered past that and into a bar where I could use the bathroom. When I came out, Other Eric had already ordered us beer (Mahou which is much better than Cruzcampo). There were 3 Spanish guys in there, the bartender, Mike, and two other guys, Al and Frank (shortened from their real names). We spent about the next hour or so in that bar talking to them. Now, by talking, I mean we would sputter out broken Spanish phrases and they would do the same in English. They made us feel welcome, though. They bought us a round and we returned it. They also told us the teeny-boppers went home around midnight and the adults came out just after midnight. This was good news. So we drank with them just a little bit.

Funny short story. Other Eric went into the bathroom and I thought it would be funny to take a stack of chairs and push them in front of the door so it would be hard to get out. So I run over to the bathroom door across the floor I just watched someone mop…and fell completely square on my butt. No reaching out to grab anything. No slipping but regaining my balance quickly. I planted, butt first, right onto the ground…right in front of the 3 Spanish guys we just met. I’m sure they’re telling that story as I type this.

We left the bar and agreed to meet Mike, Al and Frank in about an hour in another bar. We wandered back up the street and went into a bar we’d been in a couple nights before. I went to the bathroom and when I came out, Other Eric was talking to some old guy with 8 teeth at the bar. Apparently, the old guy had just started talking to him.

He kept telling us his name was Manuel and asking us our names. And then he would explain what he was saying. And tell us his name and ask ours. Then he would explain to us what he just said. But after that, he’d change the subject by telling us his name and asking ours. This went on for 10 straight minutes with him only stopping to breathe. I eventually told him that Other Eric was Indiana Jones and that my name was Neo. For some reason he kept calling me Mr. Anderson (the nerds reading that will get it). We wandered away as soon as a table came open.

We left that bar and wandered back down the road and into the bar where we said we’d meet Mike, Al and Frank. We found them and they introduced us to their friends. I’m sure it went something like this (translated for ease of reading):

“Hey, shake these guys’ hands. They wandered into our bar. This one’s name is Eric and so is the other guy. How stupid is that? And the really stupid looking one fell right onto his butt while running towards the bathroom door. Then he got up and put chairs in front of the door for some reason. They’re American idiots but you don’t need me to tell you that. Just hang around them for a few minutes. Maybe if we treat them nice and they’re really stupid, they’ll buy us a round.”

I bought them a round and we hung out there for about 3 hours. It was a great time. Everyone was so good to us and seemed genuinely happy to have us there. It was great to be able to get out and experience Spanish night-life from what was mostly a Spanish perspective.

We’re going out again Wednesday night!

Rota

Last Monday, we decided we wanted to go to Rota NAS. There were 2 reasons. First, we wanted off the base. The second is I wanted to get an Xbox or Playstation to pass some of my time between shifts.

So Other Eric rented a car on base. It was a tiny, 4-door Daewoo. For those not familiar, with Daewoo, it is a Korean car company. Daewoo is Korean for “We’re gonna stick you in this tiny dang car and make you look like a fool for driving it.” And this car was as small as a 4 door could be. It had a tiny 4 hamster engine. This car, going up a slight incline, wouldn’t top 100 KM/hour, which is just over 60 MPH. It reminded me of my first car, a Hyundai, which is Korean for “hunk of crap.”

Rota is a Naval Air Station about an hour and a half away from us that lies on the Mediterranean Ocean. On the way, there we passed a really great looking church/fortress/whatever. I’m not sure what it was and I haven’t been able to get any of the Spanish folks here in the office to tell me. They aren’t familiar with it. We stopped and took pictures of it on the way back. I hope to have those pictures available in a few days. Just wish I had more information on it. There was a sign in front of it that read “La Cartuja.”

I was navigating while Other Eric was driving. Pat, from our Thanksgiving trip, was along with us. We’d picked up some directions at our base’s library (think of the library in Shawshank but a bit bigger). At one point in the directions, it said we had to pass through a small town, past a waste treatment plant and another small town.

I was pretty sure we were on the right road but not positive. I told Other Eric and Pat that we needed to be looking for these small towns and the waste treatment plant. We passed through the first town and then the following conversation took place:

“OK, we’re looking for a waste treatment plant next.”

“A waste treatment plant?”
“Is it near the road? Will we be able to see it easily?”

I think we will. Otherwise they wouldn’t put it on the…Oh my gosh!”

“Holy ****! That smells like ****!”

“Oh my gosh.”

“That smells worse than Korea.”

“Oh my gosh.”

Yeah, we found it. We continued on and stopped at a McDonald’s for something to eat. It was connected to a mall and we watched the Spanish women walk by. It’s weird to see people smoking as they walk through a mall. They don’t care about it as much here as the behavior police do in the states.

We continued on to the base and after one wrong turn, found it. We almost didn’t get on base. Other Eric didn’t bring a copy of his orders. Brilliant move. When deployed somewhere, *always* carry a copy of your orders on you. It’s common sense and he should have been briefed on it. It’s so second-nature to me, I hadn’t thought to ask him before we left. He had his military ID but the gate guards needed a copy of his orders and wouldn’t let him on. I eventually had to remind the guard how long we’d driven and that I’d vouch for him and bring him on base as my guest.

So we bought my Playstation (one of the new, really thin ones), ate at Taco Bell and got my film developed before turning around and heading back. On the way back, Pat thought of getting some meat and grilling out at the dorm. So we asked someone where to get some beef and he directed us back to the mall where we’d eaten at the McDonald’s.

We pulled in to the mall again and inside it was the Spanish version of Wal-Mart. Exactly the same, really. Walking through it, we made our way to the meat section. In Spain, apparently it is common to buy the legs of cows. They were hanging all over the place like a weird Spanish version of bunting. We decided we didn’t want any and after the guys checked the liquor aisle, we left.

We got back in our lunchbox with wheels and made it back to Moron before it was dark.

And that was our exciting trip to Rota.

I’m hoping to head into Sevilla again this weekend.

One bonus! They are moving us off-base to a local hotel. So we’ll get to live in a Spanish town. We move later this morning. I’m looking forward to it.

And if you are visiting my page and enjoying reading these updates, leave a comment. I can’t believe my updates haven’t prompted one comment! Do it for two reasons:

It lets me know you guys are reading it. Call it positive feedback.

Whoever leaves the most comments, I’ll bring them a t-shirt from Spain when I get back. These have to be legit comments, too. No, one word comments. Plus, you have to leave your name so I know who you are. If you aren’t local, I’ll mail it.

My grandmother

I know I haven't posted of late. I have one story to pass on but I'll do that tomorrow.

My grandmother died last Friday afternoon. I haven't said anything because, quite frankly, I don't know what to say.

My sis made a good start here.

Grandma was a good woman. She really and truly was. But those who knew her don't need to hear me say that. They knew it. She was sweet but with a stubborn streak. She was always good to me and my family.

Sometimes I found her tough to connect with. I found it very difficult for her to slow down and have a serious discussion sometimes. But, man, could she talk. You could sit her down with a group of adolescent girls at a slumber party and after a while, they would probably say to each other “Man, can she, like, talk or what?”

Some memories I'll always carry:

-Years ago, when I was in my teens, I think, we were visiting her at her old house and we brought our dog Laddie. Laddie was awesome. Built like a broad-chested dachsund with doberman markings. And he loved to chase squirrels and chipmunks. One time, he saw a chipmunk in Grandma's backyard and chased it up a waterspout. This really struck Grandma’s fancy. She proceeded to tell us the story later; again…and again…and again…and again. Every time she would visit us, we’d hear her tell us that story like it was the first time she told it. It became a running joke among us. “Grandma’s telling the story about the chipmunk and Laddie…again.” She actually had a few stories like this, including the one about my Uncle Dennis giving the finger to a policeman while riding on the schoolbus.

-About 2 or 3 years ago, my last job sent me up to the Youngstown, Ohio area, which is right across the border from Pennsylvania and Grandma. I stayed an extra night up there with a friend so I could take Grandma out to breakfast the next morning. I picked her up around 8 AM and we went to the Perkins in Greenville. I’ve always been fascinated with WWII history and really enjoy reading about it. My grandfather fought in WWII in Europe, was captured by the Germans and in a German POW camp for a while. I asked Grandma about it. What it was like to be young, married and not know if her husband was alive or dead for as long as 2 or 3 months. It was the first conversation of real depth I had with her. She talked about the experience of hearing he was missing in action, worrying he was dead for months and then getting word that he was a POW. I saw a side of her she didn’t seem to reveal too often. She spoke deeply from the heart and talked about it like it was the day before. Her eyes looked downward as she talked about missing him and her eyes lit up like a child’s on Christmas morning when talking about seeing him when he came home. How incredible, in both good and bad ways, must an experience be for it to be seared in her memory almost 60 years later. This is one of the three memories I have of her that I know I will carry forever.

-The second of those memories is my sister’s wedding, Labor Day weekend of 2002. It was at the reception afterward. Heather and Amy had picked out an AWESOME play list for the DJ to play. Just great music. In fact, if you still have that list, Amy and Heather, I want it for my wedding…should I ever give in and get married. Anyway, Grandma TORE UP the dance floor. It was like watching clips of Michael Jordan in his prime on Sportscenter. All we needed was Craig Kilborn saying “You can’t stop her. You can only hope to contain her.” She’d grab any guy to go out on that dance floor. Once he was tired, she grabbed the next guy. Apparently, this was another side of Grandma she didn’t reveal too often!

-Mom, Dad, Amy, Heather and I all were in Ohio together last Christmas. We all knew Grandma was deteriorating so we decided we would go see her as a family. We also knew it was probably the last time we’d see her all together. She was doing better than I expected. Able to hobble around on a cane, all she really needed help with was getting up into the van we’d rented for the trip. It was a good time…the 6 of us together. And she treasured it. It was obvious. Dad had said she was always cold at her nursing home. So I bought her an Air Force sweatshirt for her to wear. She’d mothered a Soldier (uncle Dick) and an Airman (Dad). And she had grand-mothered another Soldier (my cousin Kevin) and an Airman (me). I felt a pride in giving her that sweatshirt. When we left, grandma cried. I’d never seen her cry before in my 29 years. She would laugh and joke around. She would get angry and raise her voice (though very rarely). But I’d never seen her cry. The past 2 years she was forced to face her own mortality. And it scared her. I think she was worried if we’d ever all be together like that again. That was the last time the 6 of us were together.

That is the 3rd of the 3 memories I will always carry.

I knew there was a high chance of her passing while I was overseas. I also knew there was little chance of me making it back for her viewing and funeral. And I didn’t. It was tough. Probably not as tough as actually being there. Being here allowed me to use my defense method of not really facing it…until now. As I type this, I think of one of the two women who gave birth to my family. And she is gone. And my eyes are welling up, here at work.

When I get home, I plan on taking a couple of days to drive up to Greeneville, PA to pay my last respects.

Grandma, you are a good woman and I’ll miss you…until we meet again.