Tag: Family

I couldn’t tell you…

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grandpa, photograph

My Grandfather. Deda. Walter Cecil Kanigan.

He was born on March 22nd. Yesterday.  In 1909. 103 years ago.

I couldn’t tell you with certainty where he was born. Believe it was in the Ukraine. In a hospital? Home delivery?

I couldn’t tell you what he did as a child. Who were his friends? Did he have toys? A bike? A cat?

I couldn’t tell you of his journey to Canada. Where did he land? Did he ride the rails to get cross country? Was it Spring time?

I couldn’t tell you if he attended high school. Did he learn “his figures?”  Did he know how to write?

I couldn’t tell you how he met Grandma. Baba. Did he ask her Father for permission to marry? Was she his first choice?

I couldn’t tell you his dreams. He mentioned that he wished he could fly. Just once. I couldn’t tell you if he ever flew in a commercial airliner.

I can’t tell you much about Deda.

But, I have moments.

He mixed different cereals for breakfast.

He slurped vegetable soup off his spoon.

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You’ve Still Got A Friend

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Thursday.  He was running late for lunch.  My college roommate.  Just like him to be late.  My mind whirring back to college…

Short (very) and stocky build.  Permanently attired in University of Minnesota Gopher sweatpants and an oversized sweat shirt with hoody. Everything hung large.  Everything rumpled.  “Unkempt, having an untidy or disheveled appearance.”  Webster’s should have added his name.  He was the magnetic center – the beating heart – of every college party.  Quarter-bounce champ into Pabst Blue Ribbon at the Alibi.  Ringleader for late night games of Hearts. Out late. (Very)  Up late. (Very)  Blessed with a quick wit and quicker on the ice.  Selected easiest path to graduation: Art. Sculpture. Sociology. Physical Education. And even this was a struggle. Yet, he was never late for hockey practice.  Vote never taken, but most likely to end up next to the curb.

He walked in. Hair salt and peppered grey. Blazer. Blue open collar shirt. Tropical skin tone. (He’s got it together.)

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Morning After Long Weekend

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Grab your watch.  How long before you do too?

Yawns from Everynone on Vimeo.

And the winner is…

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The runaway winner among all the Superbowl commercials.  Dodge Ram Truck.  And Paul Harvey.  GOOD DAY!

Hanging it up after 45 years…

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family, photograph

Here’s my Aunt Olga.

She grew up as the only girl among four brothers. Tall. A striking blond. Remarkable blue eyes. A warm and infectious smile.

She left our rural home town more than 45 years ago to strike it out on her own. The Rebel. A young, single woman. Moving to the big city. Leaving behind a Mother who worried about her welfare. A Mother who took every opportunity to remind her daughter about her angst.

As a professional stylist, she built a deep and loyal roster of clients. Several times over. Her practice supported her love of travel. We’d know because she’d bring back gifts. A “Babuska doll” from Moscow. Maracas from Mexico. A flaming red scarf from Spain. A miniature Statue of Liberty or Eiffel Tower.

She’d come back home to a three generation pile-up of freeloading customers. We’d move a kitchen chair into the garage and she would mow down the Kanigan mullets one by one. Never a complaint. The line stretching around the corner.  Yep, Olga came home for a few days of R&R.

My Auntie. Independent. Industrious. A positive spirit. A generous, big-hearted soul. And, a lady who has suffered through some of life’s deepest disappointments. Yet, those sparkling blue eyes and hearty smile keep it all rooted deep down, with no evidence of flotsam bubbling to the surface.  She’s since found happiness. And a good Man. And no one deserves it more.

Here was her email to clients and friends on her last day of work yesterday: Continue reading “Hanging it up after 45 years…” →