Today I remember grandparents, especially Ted and Mike, who served in the second world war so that fascism and military authoritarianism wouldn't govern the entire world.  I don't know all of their opinions on everything, but they did fight the most important "good fight" when they were needed.  I know that they believed in working hard with their bodies and training their minds with books when they had time, they loved time outdoors and near water (whether fishing, hunting or sailing), and that they genuinely enjoyed their fellow humans.  Papa was always the first to stand up and shake someone's hand when they came to visit, and Ted told me how he liked to start up conversations in otherwise mundane situations such as sitting in waiting rooms.  I know many New Yorker's who try to avoid things like that, but Ted explained that despite those antisocial people, many people are waiting for someone to engage them and listen to them, because lots of people are lonely and don't have anyone to talk to.  He also told me how "stories intertwine" and whatever his children have been up to, at least they were all still alive.  Years as a highway patrol officer responding to accidents taught him to cherish what truly matters.

On Sunday his children got together to celebrate.  We miss both greatly.  I'm probably going to take it easier today than they would have (I read and wrote, but there isn't much yard work to be done here in Manhattan), but I understand that a large part of my being able to do that is related to how hard they fought for goodness in many aspects of their lives.  I try to do so in my own way, at least a little bit, each day.