Hey, sorry to disappear on you like that

but I had to go to a funeral for my Grandma Erkkila. She passed on rather quietly and suddenly on Monday. She was 87. The funeral was Friday.

I decided that it was stupid to announce in public that I'm going to be away. Occasionally my stepson is available to check the house, but at the moment he's persona non grata around here. That means we loaned him some money and he disappeared with it. Just a little, about $40, but we didn't have it to spare really.

After the funeral, we went to my cousin Brian's house, which is about 7 miles from Grandma's and visited. He's doing pretty well working as a machinist in Superior, but it's mostly because he has the mechanical and carpetry skills to stretch a dollar about three times as far as the average person. That's the advantage of having a father at home, especially when said father was raised on a farm. Dad, as I've mentioned, was a sailor, or rather, an engineer on "the boats". I learned an awful lot from him, but if he'd been home all the time, I'd have learned those things in spades plus the self-discipline and desire to apply them. Of course, then there'd be no Rosie or Aliina.

Grandma had rather a hard time of it these past few decades, starting with the cancer death of Uncle Donald at age 20 in 1980. We were friends at the end and I still mourn about that some. I was one of his pall-bearers. I find that a comfort Uncle Mervin died of a heart attack a few years later. Dad died in '94 of mesothelioma (asbestosis) and Uncle Jimmy (Brian's father) died a few years ago. Grandpa died not long before Uncle Jimmy.

There were some other matters Grandma had to deal with that should remain private, but they testify to a quiet sort of strength she had. She very joyfully received visitors and made you glad you came these last few years. I wish I could have seen her more often.

The house where we used to play (and, in my case once, fight) with Uncle Donald, is up for sale. I'll miss having the right to drive up and knock on the door and talk with them over coffee. (Though it's polite to call ahead.)

By the way, Garrison Keillor wasn't making anything up in Lake Wobegon Days. Nordic types in Minnesota and Wisconsin know it's all true, because we know those people. Finns are just like the other Scandinavians (ahem, probably because of that 700 years of Swedish oppression, but let's not talk about that).

Goodbye Grandma, God speed you to your home.