Paul went straight for the vivid. He, himself, was not flashy except for the red guayabera he wore for special occasions and the sombrero he briefly sported to announce his return to campus from Nicaragua. He appreciated how flashy the world could be, though, and drew his friends alongside him to point out its wonders, beauties, and opportunities. His mind was full of Quetzals and Motmots, trailing arbutus, volcanoes, and obscurities such as the cave paintings in the Lofoten islands of Norway. He didn't get pulled toward The Dark and could yank his friends away from its lure, maybe with a ride in his rubber raft on Lyman Lakes.
He worked in a hardware store as a teenager and could understand and master anything. He sought adventure. He saw Mayan ruins before the million others did. With Todd Carlson he camped for a week on the white sand beach at Tulum where the moonlight was so bright he could have read a newspaper. He found Bill Howard, thought to be somewhere within four miles, in a hammock on Isla Mujeres through instinct and by repeatedly calling out, "Howard!" He was a Port Captain in the Minnesota Harbor Service for seven years, overseeing commercial shipping operations from shoreside.
Among his many virtues was devotion to duty, and he eventually settled down to raise four children and help raise seven grandchildren.
He was ill for six years before he died, but his son Evan reported that whenever he was asked how he was doing he would reply, "Pretty good!"
He presented the world in its glory to some of us. He cherished his family and his friends and was cherished in return. Maybe his last dreams were of Quetzals; or Quetzales, because he probably dreamed in Spanish.
Comments
Paul went straight for the vivid. He, himself, was not flashy except for the red guayabera he wore for special occasions and the sombrero he briefly sported to announce his return to campus from Nicaragua. He appreciated how flashy the world could be, though, and drew his friends alongside him to point out its wonders, beauties, and opportunities. His mind was full of Quetzals and Motmots, trailing arbutus, volcanoes, and obscurities such as the cave paintings in the Lofoten islands of Norway. He didn't get pulled toward The Dark and could yank his friends away from its lure, maybe with a ride in his rubber raft on Lyman Lakes.
He worked in a hardware store as a teenager and could understand and master anything. He sought adventure. He saw Mayan ruins before the million others did. With Todd Carlson he camped for a week on the white sand beach at Tulum where the moonlight was so bright he could have read a newspaper. He found Bill Howard, thought to be somewhere within four miles, in a hammock on Isla Mujeres through instinct and by repeatedly calling out, "Howard!" He was a Port Captain in the Minnesota Harbor Service for seven years, overseeing commercial shipping operations from shoreside.
Among his many virtues was devotion to duty, and he eventually settled down to raise four children and help raise seven grandchildren.
He was ill for six years before he died, but his son Evan reported that whenever he was asked how he was doing he would reply, "Pretty good!"
He presented the world in its glory to some of us. He cherished his family and his friends and was cherished in return. Maybe his last dreams were of Quetzals; or Quetzales, because he probably dreamed in Spanish.