Two weeks ago my great aunt Helen died. It was my privilege to join the family at the funeral home for a time of reflection, sharing, and thanksgiving for her life. I didn't know her very well, but appreciated the glimpse into her life given by the others who talked so passionately about her character, love, and also her ability to make great buns.
The thing I want to speak passionately about here is not that. It's something my own grandfather showed me when we were leaving. I had been sitting with my dad, my uncle, and Grandpa. We all were about to leave at the same time, and stopped at the guest book. Here's an approximate version of the dialogue:
Uncle Bruce: Should we sign?
Me: I guess so.
Bruce: [signs]
Grandpa: [producing a pen from his pocket] You can sign for me too. I can't write anymore [laughs].
Me: You can write.
Grandpa: What I really want to do is return this pen. I came to ________'s service here a few weeks ago, and when I got home, this pen was in my pocket!
We all got a good laugh. The pen was not even a monogrammed special pen. It was labelled from some local business. But Grandpa thought it was important enough to keep it in mind and ready to return.
Hmm...Honest Pete?
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