Farewell to a Statesman

Senator Ted Stevens, 86, of Alaska, was killed in a plane crash in southwestern Alaska last night.

In a way, I'm speechless. He was the type of man I expected to live forever. He served in the US Senate from 1968 until 2008 when a very public fraud trial forced his loss in the senate election. He was convicted, but the conviction was later vacated because of prosecutorial misconduct, whatever that means.

Senator Stevens was in a plane crash before, in 1978. His first wife Ann died in that crash. Even before that, he expressed the belief that he would some day die in a plane crash.

For those who grew up being represented by this Senator, it is no surprise that he cheated a slow, pedestrian death. He lived his life in big Alaskan fashion, and he died that way, too.

Voices Silenced

I grew up hearing Paul Harvey's voice every morning on the radio while I got ready for school. I've continued to tune in to hear him as often as I could through the years. Though I knew he was aging, I was always disappointed when a stand-in did the news. Something about his voice drew us in. He was interesting, amusing, earnest, and honest.

And now he's gone. We'll miss him.

Closer to home, we'll miss Bill Hubbell. He passed away Monday after a long decline in health.

Bill was one of those guys that everybody loved. He had a ready smile and a generous heart, willing to give much out of the little he had.

He gave me my popcorn maker.

And my iron.

And some very random Christmas decorations.

92 years old. And forever young.

In Memory

I may have learned more from Angie Long than from almost anyone else, though I don't know if I ever had her as a teacher.

In a culture where all adults went by Mr. or Mrs., I can't remember ever calling Angie anything but Angie Long - first and last names together, always. She was the woman at church who was happy to let me sit by her.

4th row back on the gospel side, Angie Long always had gum in her purse, as well as a pencil stub and paper and a little metal number puzzle. A little girl's dream.

She'll probably be best remembered for her pies, especially her chocolate cream pie. And I'll always remember her for her hospitality. Whenever we went to dinner at her house (fried chicken, mashed potatoes and, of course, pie), she made us kids feel welcome. I remember playing with the legos in the basement, match-box cars, and a huge plastic coke bottle. Even if Mom and Dad talked forever, Angie Long had things for us to do. A game of aggravation could last the whole evening.

It's hard to imagine Juneau without Angie. She lit up those dark winters. Our love and prayers go out to her family, both physical and spiritual. She'll be dearly missed.

What a Funeral Should Be

Ira Pirtle died this week at the age of 93.

His funeral this morning was what a funeral should be. He lived a long, productive and happy life. His children and friends and grandchildren(and even his son-in-law) rose up to call him blessed.

People shared stories that made me laugh, that made me cry, that made me remember.

Ira was a joy to know, from his impish twinkling eyes, to his ready word of encouragement, to his insatiable appetite for pie. He lived a full life, loved well, and will be fondly remembered.

He lived his life so close to God that his departure from this life was no great struggle, rather an easy hop across the headwaters of the Jordan into the land of promise.

Well over 200 of us gathered to remember Ira and I know of many, many more who wish they could have been there.

Bon voyage, Ira. And thanks for all the ways you've laid foundations for those of us who come behind.

Party Line

I threw a birthday party for one of my kids this week, Granted, it wasn't the most exciting party ever in the history of the world, but we had crafts and games, cake and ice cream, party favors and time to play with the birthday girls' new toys.

"Where's the pinata?" asked one guest. "Do we get a present to take home with us?"

(If you're reading this blog and your child was at the party, I promise it wasn't yours.)

It reminded me of funerals in Togo where guests come to soak their grieving hosts dry. If the funeral is a disappointment, the disgruntled guests walk behind the coffin on the way to the cemetery singing something like this:

"It was a lousy funeral
The food was so bad I had a hard time eating it.
And there wasn't enough besides.
There wasn't enough to drink.
It was a lousy funeral."