Blogging Sabbatical

Well the babe finally did it. He killed the computer. 

While I work he likes to sit in my lap and pretend to type along with me, what I didn't know is that he also likes to bang on the top of the computer when it is closed. This banging as well as the constant drool shorted out something in our screen, so until we get it fixed there will be limited posts from me....

Phil Hughes

I got a phone call this morning from my mom. She left a message saying "just calling to tell you that Uncle Phil died, the funeral is tomorrow. Your father and I will be in, it starts at 10 if you want to join us."

My Uncle Phil was old when I was young, and I get him confused with his brother Uncle Joe in my memory. They were my dad's uncles, the last of the Hughes men of the immigrant generation. They both co-owned a bar in the city which was called Hughes' when I was a kid and both of them were alive. When Uncle Joe died, the bar was renamed Phil Hughes'.

I have this memory of going there after the St. Patrick's Day Parade with the family and one of the uncles giving me chocolate coins and dollar bills. This is the clearest memory I have of either of the old uncles and I am not even entirely sure the memory can be trusted as fact.

The other memory I have of Uncle Phil is that he never had a plan on how he was getting home from family gatherings. At the end of the night it was always "Who is going through the city to give Phil a ride?"

I wonder if the bar is draped in black bunting. I wonder if the bar will be renamed later this month and I wonder if anyone can give me a ride home from the funeral.

A Serious Note

I recently (like 3 minutes ago) found out a friend (not a longtime, super close friend but friend nevertheless) past away late sunday morning.
This woman, named Lisa Pellettiere was taking a math class with me; we missed her in class this past monday but we thought she had simply decided not to make the long trek up broadway to join us in our graphing for the evening. She also shared the first leg of my train ride home each monday night after this class. We would part at times square, she to her train and I to mine; each of us rushing home to kiss our sons goodnight. She was a single mother to a 7 year old son; a son who, we had discovered, had been one of my favorite children in my last student teaching placement.
My heart aches to hug her son but I will make do by hugging my own extra tight when I get home. And I will keep Lisa in my thoughts and prayers as a reminder to live life to the fullest, and to never forget to say goodnight to my boy.