About a year after Jill and I married, we moved away from Chicago. For the next 32 years, we raised our family while continuing to keep more closely in touch with David as each year went by.  There are so many fond memories: our wedding on Astor St.,  David and a seven-month pregnant Jill picking up her antique desk in Saugatuck, laying carpet in the condo with David minutes before Jill came home with Matthew, philosophical talks about you name it, David helping us move from Cincinnati to Gaylord, David helping us finish our log home in Gaylord, David going with us for sea trials on the Dawn Treader in Wisconsin, gatherings at the home in Charlevoix, lots and lots of boat discussions, almost capsizing while coming out of the Boynton Beach inlet, the trials and tribulations of the Blue Moon, an evening at the Tiki Hut in Riviera Beach and coming back on the Intracoastal in the dark, and our fishing trip on Lake Okeechobee. And always, no matter what we did, there was liberal consumption of big pieces of meat, good food, good wine, good scotch and good times.

I wish it did not have to end.  It seemed like it was always getting better and like there was always more to feel and say. Thanks for everything, David!

From Ruth Ann & the Girls -- Remembering happy days with a good-hearted man.

I remember when I lived in the Astor house how we used to stand in the kitchen at night, usually over David's favorite meal ... pizza. He would ask me questions about what I thought about different topics, and then he would gently tell me his opinions and views. We would talk for long stretches. Sometimes he would give me the "David look" ... those who knew him well have seen it time and again, the look over the top of his glasses. The one that let you know he was onto you when you were out of line. Most times it would be that cheery smile and joyful laugh as I spilled my silly theories on how life should work. 

I'll always cherish those talks. I learned many things about life during those night time lectures and discussions. I think David taught me how to use my sense of logic during those talks. I know I'll always remember that smile and laugh.

One of the last waterfront dives on the north side of Palm Beach served the best Voodoo punch on the planet. All I know is it came in a bucket with at least three kinds of rum. We took Blue Moon to the Tiki for fish sandwiches one night and stayed a little too long, but Dad managed to get us back to the house on Arlington and onto the lift in the dark. It was a wild and rummy ride.

Some of my earliest memories of Dad feature fishing poles. One time in New Buffalo we got lucky and parked right on top of a monstrous school of perch. We caught them so fast we could barely get a minnow in the water before we caught the next fish. We’d unhook it, put it in a net Dad had fixed to the side of the boat to keep what we caught, and do it all over again. Funny thing, when we went to pull the net, we found a big hole and no fish. (Everyone needs at least one fish story, which brings me to March, 2017.)

Dad planned a grand bass-fishing adventure on Lake Okeechobee. Our original plan was to take Dad’s new boat all the way up the Intracoastal and through the locks, but Jack and I arrived in the middle of Florida's equivalent of a winter storm. We wisely decided to drive to Clewiston, given the rocky and shallow nature of Lake Okeechobee. (I had visions of us bouncing across the limestone bottom of the lake in the ditches between the waves.)

I never realized bass boats could go over fifty miles per hour, or the effect this might have on one’s sinuses when it is forty-five degrees outside. After our first morning, we headed to the Clewiston Walmart in search of a solution to our problem. Jack and I bought socks and thermal underwear. Dad bought a mask and snorkel. He had one bad moment when he realized he’d have to keep the snorkel attached if he wanted to breathe, but solved his issue by cutting out the bottom of the nosepiece. Jack and I froze our faces again on the second morning, but Dad was all set. And yes, he caught his bass.

People who knew Dad as a thinker might not know that he was also a talented craftsman.  People also might not know that Dad had a son named Numode.  Numode was a little bear crocheted by Dad's Aunt Weed and given to me when I was seven.  Here's a photo of the jalopy that Dad built for Numode using an odd mixture of wood, PVC pipe, marbles, pieces of old toys, hardware, and spray paint.  The project gave him an excellent excuse for several trips to Chuck's 212 Discount Hardware Store, his favorite haunt in the 1970s.

Boats and tools were among Dad's favorite things, except on one very hot day in Michigan. We should have been out on the lake, but as usual, Rubber Duckie had other ideas. Dad took his tools and his little helper to tinker with the engine. When he asked for his socket set, I eagerly grabbed an ancient metal tool box by its handle. It wasn't latched. All sorts of cute little metal things fell out and went rolling toward the back of the boat. Dad frantically intercepted a few, but most disappeared into the large hole where the engine sits. Imagine Dad face-down on the floor of the boat with his arm immersed to the shoulder in icky, oily, bilge water as he hand-fished blindly for the sockets. I'm not sure if I was ever invited to help fix the boat again, but we went on to enjoy many other tinkering projects together.