Blogger tells me I haven't been on this thing since January 20th. Some start this year is off to.

I suppose in my last post I wrote my update up to the point of something that's a bit difficult to write about, in that I don't really feel I could do it justice.

My grandfather, Dr. J. Paul Schweinfurth, died January 7th, 2010. I'm posting the obit text here under the passing thought that perhaps my blog will survive online longer than the newspaper's archives:

Dr. J. Paul Schweinfurth of Nevada City died Thursday, January 7, in Grass Valley. He was 87.

A service will be at 2 p.m. Sunday, Jan. 17, at Calvary Bible Church, Grass Valley.

He was born Dec. 17, 1922, in Sandusky, Ohio, to William and Hazel Schweinfurth.

He attended Wheaton College, Northwestern University Medical School and the Mayo Clinic. He served in the U.S. Army during World War II.

He married Marjorie “Marge” Brouwer on Sept. 25, 1947, in Chicago.

Dr. Schweinfurth was a neurologic surgeon in private practice in Loichita, Kansas and Santa Barbara. He was a certified board member of Neurologic Surgery, Harvey Cushing Society and the Mayo Clinic Alumni. He enjoyed reading, bird watching and cooking.

He is survived by his wife, Marge Schweinfurth of Nevada City; children, Susie Culkin of Reno, Nev., Annie Knowles of Sacramento, and Jim Schweinfurth of Portland, Ore., brother, Joe Schweinfurth of Portland, Or.; 10 grandchildren and one great-grandson.

Dr. Schweinfurth was preceded in death by his parents, William and Hazel Schweinfurth; and brother, Henry Schweinfurth.

I loved my grandfather very much, he was kind man, and when I recall my lifetime of experiences with him, I have not a bad memory that I can access in his regard. He was not a perfect man, but he was the best grandfather I could have ever asked for. He read his Bible complete every year, and read voraciously outside of that as well. He was a good man, the type that I can only hope to imitate some day. I am thankful for the days I was able to be with him before he left us here, behind.

We called him "Grandie."

7 days, 1 hour, and 14 minutes ago was the last time I heard from my friend Lu. We were chatting over gmail, like we always did.

We had been chatting off and on all day, ever since I pinged her at 8:25am right after I woke up that Saturday morning.

It seems really long ago now.

She told me about the bad dream she had and I told her about how I never really dream anymore. She told me about how foggy it was there that morning and we bitched about squirrels together - we shared a special hate for them. I complained about my cold and how the medicine wasn't working. I told her about the two things I want to do before I die. She complained about the small town post office. And then we started sending each other the music we were listening to.

I sent her Bach's hunting cantata "Sheep Can Safely Graze." She sent me Clem Snyde and some Pharcyde. I sent her a Dan Bern song and she sent me a bunch more of his back. She sent me a song that her band played. She sent me Fantasie in F Minor - not played by her but I know she played it perfectly, all 19 minutes of it. I sent her some Jozi.

She remembered the Uganda slide-show of pictures from the orphanage that I was supposed to show her, so we watched it and talked about it. We talked about African languages that I'll need to learn over there. That was the last thing we talked about.

"rofl. peace out."

That was the last thing she ever said to me.

Alexandra Clare Wilich, 28, died unexpectedly Sunday, Nov. 16, 2008. Her many friends and family called her Lexi.

It is not the mountain we conquer but ourselves.

RIP Sir Ed.