Eulogy for Thomas Erskine

This is the printed word, from which I spoke the eulogy at Thomas Erskine’s funeral service on the 25th of August, 2009. It probably isn’t exactly what I said, I can’t be sure, but it is very, very close.

Introduction
My name is Lief. He would rather have introduced me as Shawn.

While in my youth I may have tried to deflect childish jokes for a unique first name Grampa may have wanted to deflect praise; he once told my brother he preferred a pine box to a fancy coffin. But, praise him I will, and we do, and deservedly so.

We are here in praise of Thomas Erskine. In his 88 long years he was a son, a brother, a husband, a 2nd lieutenant and bombardier, a father, an actor, a marketing manager, a hunter, an anchor, a romantic, a deacon, a servant, a grandfather, a woodworker, a philanthrope, a master gardener, a story teller, and a great grandfather – through it all he was a family man who drove a hard bargain with a legendary handshake and a satchel chock full of one liners.

However, all of this and all of you, would not have been but for one of those strange turns in life that saw Tom, a young bombardier, sent separately to a class while his crew-mates were shot down over enemy lines. Except maybe for Sis over there, you know? He lived with that pain, in the service of our country, for decades. Some salve was applied later to that wound when he found out near the turn of the century that four of his crew-mates survived.

His legacy then, as events would have it, is embodied in us, his family and friends and the myriad steps that bring us all to this place, together, in praise of him and his life.

Overview
In his youth he was called The Ox and throughout his life he cut an imposing figure.

But I bet he didn’t squash Granny’s knuckles when first they met because she married him in 1943 and they were together for 53 years until her passing in 1996.

Together they had seven children and he had pet names for all of them:
Tuggy, TTRTX, ShortFat&4F, Boy, FourEyes, Bones, BrightEyes, and Scutter

At bedtime he would say? “Allright girls, up the golden stairs.”

I am sure many of you carried one or more of his monikers as well.
I really think he had some sort of an inside joke with everybody and it might take another 88 years to find them all.

He dearly loved his family, cherished his time with them, even when he fell asleep in his favorite chair gracing us all with his now infamous open-mouthed snore.

With the passing of his first wife Tom again found love with Maggie and they married in 2000. Apparently he just couldn’t stay away from children and family and endearing women so he endeavored to increase the size of his family two-fold.

Maggie and he enjoyed travelling together and the now even larger family gatherings.
He loved to shine light on her beautiful quilts.

Military
He entered active duty on March 4, 1944, and served admirably as a navigator and bombardier with the 513th Squadron, 376th Heavy Bombardment Group, 15th Air Force.

In addition to the near miss I mentioned before he and his crewmates once limped home on only two engines and a prayer.

He was discharged from active duty in June of 1945
He once said to a daughter that he wasn’t worried during the war because he was living his life as a servant and he was at God’s disposal.

Sense of humor
Growing up with 7 brothers and sisters, Married with 6 daughters and one son, and tacking on a tour of duty – Tom had ample occasion to develop his wry wit.
While he told a good story his one liners were a calling card.

Once on a hiking trip with a family friend, Giuseppe from Italy, the all male outfit treated their guest of honor to the mornings inaugural pancake. Now, these are camping pancakes and likely not the tastiest treat for even a hungry hiker. So, one at a time they endeavored to enjoy their meal, and when Giuseppe’s turn came around again he declined a second helping.
“Plenty Plenty”
Taken aback at this refusal Tom called for a vote.
“Who here thinks Giuseppe should have a second pancake?”
“Aye”
slap :
“That’s Democracy.”

He relished a good joke and drove home his one-liners.

If you asked him a question the answer to which you were not entitled he would answer
Layovers catch meddlers.

For the one that got away?
If dog rabbit.

and of course the self-explanatory:
If you can’t win don’t lose.

The Arts
Tom enjoyed the arts, Poetry, The Theater, Opera.

If you spent any time with him you would hear an opera or two, be read a poem or three and he would sing under his breath leaving a restaurant, or recite snippets at opportune moments throughout the day. You might think he invented the phrase “Trouble in river city” until you chanced on a production of The Music Man.

“The Childrens Hour” by Longfellow was one of his many favorite poems, (an excerpt)

I hear in the chamber above me
The patter of little feet,
The sound of a door that is opened,
And voices soft and sweet.

In his life he circled back to cherish his children and their children…and their children.

Never one to shun good entertainment he would regularly read The Family Circle and Dennis The Menace. He even flaunted a British accent in the theater while living in South Dakota.

I recall attending The Phantom of the Opera with him and while the scale of the production is great – it seemed the grandiose notes were music to his ears while the lyrics, if you could pick them out, really sang to him.

His Italian was measurable and to reinforce your understanding he would simply ask – Capiche?

He loved the arts.

Gardening and Retirement
I wrote down here that he “retired” in 1980 but for my whole life, and perhaps many of yours, I remember that a call from Grampa was a call for work.
He dug post holes
He planted trees
He built decks
He installed toilets
and so many other things too numerous to count

He became a master gardener with no small measure of skill and was proud of his Christmas tree plantation.
He would later donate 50 Christmas trees per year to charity so the less fortunate could celebrate Christmas with a proper tree.

He loved to do stuff with his hands.

Faith
Thomas completed training as a Deacon in the Catholic Church and was ordained in the first Deaconite class of the Archdiocese of Seattle in 1973. He served as Deacon at St. Madeleine Sophie in Bellevue and later at Our Lady of Good Counsel in Eatonville, WA.

One of the larger aspects of Tom’s life was his commitment to service. He felt blessed with a strong family – so with a deep commitment to service and sacrifice, a deep commitment to his God and his religion, and with an enduring belief in himself he reached out to others in the community who had less.

He shared what they lacked: advice for a hard decision, money for a tough month, food for a hungry mouth, a hammer for a loose nail, and perhaps the most difficult – an ear when someone wasn’t heard.

But he didn’t just give, he firmly believed that he must teach that man to fish. His reward was the sense of community and cohesion he built in his service

“By myself I couldn’t do diddly. I couldn’t drive myself (to work) if not for the support of the people.”
– Thomas Erskine 1985

He was at God’s disposal – he loved, and lived, to serve.

Philanthropy
The first act of pure philanthropy of which I am aware was that night when he heard of his crew-mates fate. He set about treating his Italian host family to a lavish dinner. They were likely subject to rationing but it seems like Tom, even then, held a deep and abiding respect for life and family.
He celebrated the living.

As a member of the church, he would volunteer at BBQ’s slaving over the hot coals, and as a father he would make fresh white popcorn for trick-or-treaters.

His focus continually returned to the children, whether his own or those of strangers; children remained central.

In later years he expended much energy donating his time for children in need in his parish. He recently personally ensured that thousands of donated dollars were spent on cart loads of childrens toys, to be given at Christmas time. And when he found out that the establishment gave a 10% discount for charitable buying he cinched up his belt and added to the haul with a drive hardly recognizable as an octogenarian.

He loved giving and he most loved giving to children.

Conclusion
With Grampa it really began and ended with service and family.

He was safe and secure in his home with Maggie and his only son when he passed.
He volunteered, during my last visit, that he was happy with his life and that he felt he had done the best he could with a mistake or two along the way.

And I know that every time he saw his children and their children (and their children) flit about his home and about his feet he was happy.

Where have you gone then Grampa? – Layovers catch meddlers.
You’ll be allright then? – If dog rabbit.
Ok well, up the golden stairs then with you and remember, if you can’t win don’t lose.

We all love you Grampa, capiche?

Emma is quietly formulating her plan.

After planning a prospective overnight bike ride BopOp recapped the plan.

After work on Friday we catch the ferry, ride to Port Gamble, stay the night and the next day catch the ferry back to Seattle and ride all the way home.

Yeah, sounds good.

Abby, obviously engaged in our conversation spoke up in a desirous tone

I wanna go on a ferry.

Emma, idling for the moment on Monya’s lap, streamed her consciousness from under her sassy (pacifier)

I wanna go on a horse.

It was a moment which made it clear she is fully engaged; and synchronously beating a different drum.

Memories and Thomas Erskine

My grandfather, Thomas Erskine, died this morning.
These are some things I remember when I think about him.

Back on June 20th of this year we all went to visit him.
We took pictures and it was clear he enjoyed the energy The Mermaids brought to his place that day.

Even then he was waxing poetic saying what a good life he had; and he was right.

One of his favorite stories to relate (about me) was the time I volunteered that my name was Shawn to a salesperson. He frequently called me Shawn with a glimmer in his eye…probably even on that day last June.

He also liked to talk about how he would walk the railroad tracks at lunch over to our house to see me as a newborn. He would hold me, during lunch he said, on his lap until I fell asleep.

When I was older and laying on the floor watching something on TV at his house, he would reach down and grab and hold my fingers with a crazy strength in his toes.

In one of my earlier memories I recall how he would blow magnificent smoke rings from his cigar so my brother and I could poke our fingers through them.

He used to accuse me of not having washed my face when I didn’t shave and I still remember the night the men in the family played poker (for $2) and watched a Stag movie (Hunting the White Tailed deer…all 30 minutes of it) because he didn’t have a bachelor party when he was married.

He had an incredibly firm handshake, sometimes painfully so.
I think everyone who met him remembers that.

…was had by all.

Right before the post about the spider, we went camping and there were so many good pictures that it deserved retelling, picture-book style.

First we had a snack.
they posed with their feet up of their own genetic accord...honest injun

We went for walks.
holding hands and saying 'lions and tigers and bears oh my'

We saw bugs.
snth
snth

We had a campfire.
snth

We played in the water.
snth

We played in the sand.
snth

We found cool shells (a heart cockle).
snth

We saw LOTS of frogs.
snth

We ate s’mores.
snth

We got real dirty.
snth

We escaped danger (no kidding…this is the small half of the limb that fell from about 15 meters up and missed clubbing Abby and I by less than 5 meters).
snth

We sat and listened to the forest.
snth

We became junior rangers.
snth

We had a good vacation.
snth

Sharp Shinned Coopers

Yesterday, at approximately 13:28 (so says my camera’s time-stamp) The Mommy urgently required our attention to the hawk she spotted in our backyard.

Digression. Incidentally, it was scoping the two corn-fed rodents we keep penned that were instinctively huddled under one or the other of the covered portions of the pen.
I am quite confident that my over-engineered rabbit tractor will keep the rabbits safe from anything this neighborhood can dish out and the hawk agreed; he didn’t dilly-dally. Methinks he spied all those staples and made haste.
Only a motivated bear would be capable of overcoming my defenses…well that and any mildly interested three year old who might occasionally leave the door open.
Come to think of it, I wouldn’t feel too comfortable, for the rabbits sake, with an Ozette-trained raccoon in our backyard; I bet one of them could muster my gravity-fed, door-clasp.

It was really close at first and quickly moved to another perch for another view into the pen. I run-walked for the camera and snapped about 6 pics before it flew off.

I KNEW I could identify it with some quality shots.

Definitely a sharp shinned coopers goshawk

So I confidently opened my birdbook (3rd edition) and quickly found that the Sharp Shinned and Coopers hawks are so danged close in all respects (and may even be confused with the Northern Goshawk) that the book makes a point of saying how “confusingly similar” they all are.

Argh!

So, I can’t be sure of anything but how freakishly happy I am with this picture (and by extension my camera). This second shot is only a close-up (full resolution) of the head from the first shot which allows you to see good color, good beak detail, and an amazing red eye.

Definitely a sharp shinned coopers goshawk

For my own self, I am leaning towards Sharp Shinned only because of the slightness of the bird. Sharp Shinned hawks are 10-14″ while Coopers are 14-20something” in length. That and the Sharp Shinned is more common around here.

I could reproduce the image with me out there holding a ruler but I am quite sure I would find that the estimate would be 14″ – so fahgeddaboudit (for now).

Live and love like there is no tomorrow

I don’t personally know Elden Nelson (aka Fatty), I have only met his blog, but the depth of his personal story which he has been sharing with humor, grace, and humility has meant something to me in a way that I am not accustomed to.

I am, in my version of empathy-weak hedonism, pretty much concerned only with myself and my immediate surroundings. I really only dwell on my bike, my job, my sleep, my children, and my wife and my family. I act like a lot of the other stuff is just granted.

I also seem to have a well-developed misery-avoidance setting and if you carry that forward just a little bit and you might end up with inaction when action is needed.

Elden, amazingly and for no explainable reason, was the catalyst behind a small change in my motivation and action.

Really? If you get right down to it my wife has enough empathy for something like two full grown Texans and she has done more leading-by-example over the last ten years such that it would be foolish to suggest that somehow this funny blogger in Utah did more for me than her; he didn’t. She, and my parents before her, set the stage in so many ways that it defies my ability to recount and really defies the point of this message. Suffice it to say, that I was primed by a loving family and ready for this adjustment but I didn’t know it until Elden made his catalytic call to action.

So I joined the Seattle Livestrong Ride and I made a small and positive difference on behalf of a few in my family, extended family, and even reached out to a family that I hardly knew.

It was worthy action for their sake.

Last night I saw Fatty’s post about the end of his wife’s fight with cancer and I got shivers. My misery-avoidance setting doesn’t even really allow me to seriously consider, deep-down, what it would feel like to go through a trial like that at this time in my life – but I got shivers.

This turn of events had me thinking more this morning and other than taking direct action against cancer on others behalf (as we have done and continue to do through the likes of the LiveStrong Foundation) it seems to me that living and loving like there is no tomorrow is the best course.

That is what I have read and re-discovered on fatcyclist.com – Elden and his wife Susan shared what it is like for a family, at pretty much the same place in their lives as mine, to live and love like there is no tomorrow.

The only thing to do now is thank them for sharing and then act on what I have learned.

Got Spider?

Last weekend while wrapping up the campfire I saw something move in my lower peripheral.
It was too dark to make it out clearly but through the use of modern technology I am able to bring it to you in all of it’s evolutionary glory.

W

A little closer shall we?
T

And from the backside?
F

This, my fair reader, is a Mygalomorph spider – in Federal Way.
He is lumped into a family of spiders commonly referred to as Trapdoor Spiders and belongs to the same SubOrder (Mygalomorphae) as the more well known Tarantulas.
From my limited experience with Tarantulas (i.e., none) he looks JUST LIKE ONE.
His Genus is almost certainly Bothriocyrtum but maybe Ummidia. I guess Bothriocyrtum based on the locale of these other pictures on Bugguide.com.

But…before you go getting all itchy and twitchy, this little fella, lets call him TwoBits, wasn’t very big. TwoBits could have probably made camp on a quarter.

that sure looks like one big quarter

You know what though, that sure looks like an awfully big quarter to me and TwoBits sure moved like a Tarantula.

Anyway, before you really come undone (on our behalf), we have a tent, with mostly good zippers so it’s all good.

no room in the inn

You may notice in passing, as I did, that there isn’t much room left in there for a meaty guy like me?
I would certainly suffer a lot of welts if I tried to throw one of them out. [Ever tried to throw a cat in a lake? Yeah – same thing.]
OR
I would lose some function or other for the better part of a day if I tried to wedge myself in.
SO
TwoBits and I were shacking up. Now, it’s not my fault that I am the biggest and the strongest and as I am keenly aware of that I felt somewhat compelled to persuade TwoBits that I was right – if only for the night. I was sure an agreement could be reached.

After showing off my aggrandizing pictures to three inquiring minds…

What Daddy?
Daddy, what is “oh wow”?
Why did you say “oh wow” Daddy?
What was that?
What was that flash for Daddy?
What are you taking a picture of Daddy?

A spider.

I wanna see the spider!
Gimmee see!

…I quickly returned to exert my presence with authority and to persuade TwoBits that greener pastures were further away from my sleeping bag than he might think possible only to..find…him……..gone.

Dang he was quick when he wanted to be.

So, I put out the fire and went to bed; And I slept pretty soundly too.

More records

I have a thing for just being and doing stuff in extreme weather. Not crazy stuff really, I don’t go searching it out like a tornado hunter or anything, but I like to say “I did X on the coldest/hottest/rainiest/windiest/snowiest day EVARRRRR.”

When I was in Sweden I made sure and stayed up until 00:00 to go out and be in the coldest weather I have ever been in. If memory serves, it was -39˚C (also just about -39˚F). My ears felt like they nearly froze off of my head. I could hear the ice freezing in the trees and popping their limbs.

I rode my motorcycle home from Highline on the Inauguration day wind storm in 1992(?).
I rode my bike home in the drifts of snow last winter and to work in -19˚C windchill

and today…drum roll please…

I can honestly say I rode home on the hottest day EVARRRR in Seattle.
According to the Record Alert on WeatherUnderground site SeaTac reached 39.4˚C (103˚F) today and on that same site I saw Renton Hill reporting 41.2˚C (106˚F) this afternoon at about 4PM.

Okay but how does it FEEL?

The best explanation is by way of my water bottle.
By the time I hit Marginal Way (I had an errand in SoDo that forced me into my least desirable return route) my water bottle that started full of ice was completely melted (it didn’t rattle anymore when I shook it) and it didn’t have any more condensation on the outside.

By the time I hit Tukwila (BECU) it was body temp – I couldn’t feel it’s temperature as I drank.

And the last swigs I took in East Renton tasted like plastic soup.

The good news is that on a bike there is almost always a nice breeze in your face.
As hot as it was (and still is)…I like it.

Our Literalist

lit·er·al·ism: n. Adherence to the explicit sense of a given text or doctrine.

In swimming lessons recently WeeOne was getting used to having her face in the water. She isn’t afraid of it really, she and her mer-sister dunk their faces in all the time. In fact, WeeOne has always been more comfortable with water on her face than LaGrande,

BUT

She is three now and if she isn’t (is?) in the mood, she interprets instructions very literally: sometimes honestly and occasionally, and even successfully, as an escape. We may never know her motivations on this day but literalism mode was on.

The instructor put the front of her own face in the water, blew some bubbles, came up for air and said:

Okay ladies, it’s time to get our noses wet!

With these ‘clear’ instructions WeeOne promptly dabbed her free hand into the pool, brought it up to her face, and patted her nose until wet. Next.

ISS not, am too

Tonight, on the 40th anniversary of the first man setting foot on the moon, I realized that the International Space Station (ISS) was doing another fly-by at an estimated magnitude of -3.3*, so I taped it; sorta.
I have stacked 4 images into one here and screened them together using Photoshop.

ISS not!

Not the best astro-photography to be sure but it marks the occasion and isn’t bad for a point and shoot.
I set the camera to Shutter Speed Priority, set the shutter to four seconds, ISO at 400, put the exposure bias to -2 and set it upside down on the ground…on a t-shirt. Oh and I also set it to take ten, 3 second pictures in a row.

Here, once I thought that maybe the subject was out of range of my original placement I moved the camera so that if the ISS flared again like Saturday night I might capture it.

ISS NOT!

It didn’t flare again, but it sure looks like it wiggled a lot.

The flare: On Saturday I woke La Grande Mermaid up at 22:56 to see the ISS fly over at an estimated magnitude of -3.5 and, well, she doesn’t wake up too easy; but I was eventually successful, she did see it, and she corroborates my story about the flare on the south side.
BopOp and Monya, watching from 2+ miles away didn’t notice a flare.

I didn’t see a flare tonight but still really cool all the same; especially so because tonight there were 13 astronauts on board with the new crew from the now docked shuttle Endeavour coming on recently. I think that makes this the cut-over from Expedition 20 to Expedition 21 combined shuttle and Expedition 20 crew the largest crew under one roof in space ever. Expedition 21 is expected to take command in October of 2009.

Considering where we were forty years ago, where we are today, where we could be if only…well it is all pretty amazing that we can do this at all.
Go Space Station Go!

* by the way, a magnitude of -3.3 is no slouch; the wikipedia article on apparent magnitude claims the following apparent magnitudes:
−4.7 Maximum brightness of Venus and the International Space Station (when the ISS is at its perigee and fully lit by the sun)[3]
−3.9 Faintest objects observable during the day with naked eye
−3.8 Minimum brightness of Venus when it is on the far side of the Sun
−3.0 Maximum brightness of Mars
−2.8 Maximum brightness of Jupiter
−1.9 Maximum brightness of Mercury
−1.47 Brightest star (except for the sun) at visible wavelengths: Sirius