Our dear friend Chuck died.  The shock of the news hasn’t worn off yet and both The Curmudgeon and I feel numb.

     We met Chuck way back in the early years of our marriage, about thirty-five years ago.  He was a good friend to us all these years.  I even worked for him for a time. When he finally found Gail and married her, we were there.  When his father died, we were there.  When his mother died, we were there.  Although, during the last few years, we seldom got up to his place to see him, it never meant that we didn’t think of him often.  It’s just that driving for more than a very short distance is often too much for The Curmudgeon.

     I’m so glad we talked to him the other day. 

     Chuck, I am telling you now, we are with you again.  We are missing you and hoping your passing was painless.  No services for you, an idea I agree with, for I feel the same way about the whole business when I pass.  However, that doesn’t mean I can’t lift a glass in remembrance of you and all the drinking we all did when we were young.  *I raise my glass.*  Goodbye dear, dear, friend.  Go with love, go with peace, go with all the dogs and save us some good seats.

    You all have a good one.