Eulogy for a Good Man

I guess it's okay to writer about this now -- the obituary is now up; it has been posted on social media. 

My friend and mentor, Les Savage, died at 92 last Saturday. 

Les looked like a garden gnome -- short, with wild white hair, chubby cheeks, and a beard. He had twinkling blue eyes, and yes, at least one person I know called him Santa Claus. Like Santa Claus, he gave the most wonderful hugs.


He'd led a fuller life than most; his reminiscences were peppered with phrases like "when I had my pilot's licence", "when I was in the navy," and "when I worked in a lab in Glasgow".  I didn't learn until his obituary that he also could have included "when I consulted for the Apollo missions." He was a combustion expert with a PhD in mechanical engineering who led a side business blowing up coal mines (in a controlled manner) to get rid of mine gases. He did carpentry in his basement and had wired up a house-wide stereo system long before Bluetooth made that easy. He appreciated good coffee, good wine, and good whiskey and taught me a little about each.

He also friended a motley crew of folks who needed a father figure and some emotional support. I was one of those folks, having a contentious relationship with my mother, undiagnosed bipolar disorder, and an unlucky love life that absolutely obsessed me. The group I hung out with Les called themselves Saturday Night Group because of their tendency to meet on that night to occasionally cook dinner, watch Star Trek: Next Generation, and talk. Membership rippled in an organic manner -- new people showed up, some stayed, and we developed close bonds. I am still friends with many of those people, and I will see many of them at the wake.

He gave. This is what strikes me. He gave to his religious community as a communion bearer, he gave his support to the local LGBTQIA community, he gave to his "kidlings" as he called us. He did not judge us -- we who were gay or pagan or atheist or struggling with mental illness or nonwhite or multiracial.  If ever there was a good example of a Christian man, it was my friend Les.

I loved the man. I still do.

Platelets

So I'm hopefully giving platelets today.

The process behind giving platelets involves doing nothing for two hours while having a needle in one's arm. You sit in the most comfortable lounge couch with warm blankets and pads and a tv screen in front of you.

I've gotten pretty good at surfing the internet one-handed on my phone, and the only tv I ever watch is during these sessions. 

Sometimes I meditate, because it's pretty quiet in there. Sometimes I watch with wonder as the machine works its magic and seperates the platelets from blood and plasma and gives me back those fluids. 

It's not two hours wasted. It's a two-hour break from my mind, which always wants to be busy. And I may be saving someone's life. 

Day 23 Reflection: Dust

I associate dust with death. It must be my Roman Catholic upbringing and the rites of Ash Wednesday: Remember that you are dust, and unto dust you shall return.  I prefer my father's tongue-in-cheek version: Ashes to ashes, dust to dust; if the Good Lord don't get you, the Devil must. 

The Biblical metaphor does capture a truth: Life does come from dust. Dust contains numerous forms of tiny life: mites, bacteria, mold spores, plus specks of amino acids. The primordial ooze that begat the first life on earth was dust mixed with water for life.

When I die, I want to be cremated and scattered in a peaceful garden. I want to become nutrients for the grass and flowers. I want to scatter in the wind, become one with the soil. 

I cannot think of a better thing to be than dust.