Dear LJ Friends,
This is a tribute to my grandfather who passed away in New York this past weekend. He died on St Patrick's Day. This is appropriate not because he was Irish, but because he thought of himself as Irish. He was the second kind of person (those that wish they were Irish). I took the Amtrak down to New York City on Sunday and came back on Wednesday. I am not an emotional person. However, I did get very nostalgic going to the Big Apple. This was the last time I will go down and be able to stay free of charge in the city. It is more a turning point for my father becase New York City can no longer be called his home. He grew up at 76 West 69th St (one block from Central Park) and now when he comes to the city, Central Park will have to be a day trip instead of a nice walk after dinner or a place where he can play some pick up baseball with the other kids on the block.
It was very nice to see some of the family again. Julie...they are all coming to our wedding. I talked with them, swapped some politics, talked about my recent engagement, showed up off Julie's photo to my uncle Jerry and so on.
At the funeral, I was a pallbearer. I found it a very good way to say goodbye to Grandad. I also read from the Book of Wisdom. The reading made me think. It is hard, when we live so well, to think of this life as an exile. But that is what it is. It is an exile, just as it was for Prospero in The Tempest or for the Israelites in between Egypt and the Promised Land. Forgetting this is why Christians tend to look at situations in too much of a wordly light, disregarding, intentionally or unintentionally, the principle that it does not matter how much we suffer in this world, because our primary goal is not to be happy here, but to get to heaven.
My sister sang beautifully from the choir loft. The closing hymn was "I Know that My Redeemer Lives" which I now love even more than before. My heart swelled when I heard it.
Aside from the funeral, I think that the most memorable thing I will take with me is sitting on the fire-escape outside Grandad's window and counting the taxis with my nephew. Whenever I would visit my grandparents, I would sit outside the window at about 6pm, when the taxis are busiest and count them. This time, however, not only was it the last time I would ever get to do it. I passed the tradition, however short lived in him, on to my nephew Christopher, who came to NYC with us.
Sincerely,
Peter Pupkin.
Feeling: 
contemplative
Rhythm running through my veins: I Know that My Redeemer Lives.