Updates and Herb Butterworth

Yesterday, I was at a visitation for someone I did not know…  I will get to that after a quick update on other doing’s.

I have 39 draft posts sitting off to the side in my WordPress program.  Its insane the amount of writing I start… And do not feel like comes to a complete thought.  The point of a blog is that it never really finishes…  Its an ongoing journal.  Will they every get published?  Are they not finished because they are flawed in the first place?  Who knows.

County board should be its own page, but I don’t think I have the time to write everything I want to comment on.  Max and I talked about a podcast.  But that’s not a whole lot easier and it required logistics of 2 busy people to meet up on a regular basis.

I hung out with some beer nerds this week.  What a refreshing moment to see that the PABN (Peoria Area Beer Nerds) are still closely organized.  I met a few and wished I had more time.  This feeling was warmed over even more when I read the article about the city of Delavan and the revitalization of downtown.  Something I have been passionate about since Libby passed away and her son Tom let her dream fall apart.  So much potential.  (Oh, and I still think heavily about Kevin when downtown Delavan pops in my head.  If we meet again…  I am swinging hard with a revenge gut punch.  Then you are getting a giant hug)

We have a St Jude remembrance day coming up.  I don’t even know how to unpack this.  Our family is all going down to Memphis in October for a weekend of memorial with other St Jude families that lost a child during their treatment.  The Nates and my folks are coming as well.

We scheduled our annual pumpkin patch run to Christ Orchard.  Look out for family pictures in a few weeks.

Florida was decimated by another hurricane.  I have experience with the aftermath of Hurricane Andrew and Miami from when I was much younger.  Fortunately, I never had to ride one out like the last few that have hit Fort Meyers and Tampa.

I had a sudden initiative to write a story from my youth about a bunch of 17-year-olds driving to Chicago to see a concert.  I sat down with my PC and started working on an outline while we were watching TV.  Angela asked what I was doing, and I told her about my sudden inspiration.  There is something odd about writing when pulling memories from before your spouse entered the picture.  Its not a matter of pining for the old days, but you have to try and remember the motivations and drivers for your actions.  At 17, it was girls.   Pretty sure that was everything besides hanging with the guys.

I gave blood in Summer’s honor…  And have some feelings about that.  I started a post, but it started getting weird.  Almost fiction.  So, not sure what to do with that.

Lots of memorial talk lately.  Aiden thinks Summer needs to rest… Out of the house!  I am still happy with her sleeping in her bedroom.  Angela says I don’t go in there.  I don’t have much reason to be fair.  We went to a nature park near Galena that had limestone “sentinels” and REALLY liked them as monuments.  My mind will not allow me to settle on a flat tombstone 90 minutes from home.  I told Aiden, as someone who lives that far away from my Dad’s grave, I have no motivation to take Summer to Fairbury right now, knowing that she is no longer nearby.  When that happens, and it will, it will be the worst drive home.  I may need a chauffeur.

Info on Casper Bluff:  https://caspernaturalcemetery.com/

Ang and I did a road trip to Effigy Mounds National Historic Park.  She is still working on her quest for junior ranger badges.  We were at this park years ago with the kids and I remember lots of walking up a giant hill.  I wonder how both my kids walked all those miles when they were 5 and 7 years old… just to look at shapes in the grass.  They were troopers but rightfully were skeptical about my enthusiasm when I told them about more mounds.

I could prattle.  I’ll stop.

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Herb Butterworth passed away.

I had never heard that name before.  Herb was the Father of one of Angela’s co-workers.  We traveled over to a Baptist Church in Bloomington for remembrance and service on Friday afternoon.  I was a bit put-off that I was leaving work and had the guilt creep over me that I was wasting valuable work time.  (Something that I should have gotten past with my life adventures over the past few years)

Life is important.

We walked in and made pleasant conversation with Amy and her husband at the entrance to the church hall.  I looked over Herb’s accolades from his time in Vietnam to his job at Western Electric or something.  It sounded like he did lineman-type work for a telecom his whole life.  He even had some old perfect attendance awards from his childhood.

Everything seems very ordinary and unexceptional while looking over a table that is supposed to represent someone’s life.  An injured Vietnam vet who worked his whole life to get to take an annual Disney vacation or trips to Wisconsin for fishing does not live their life to create a “brag table”.  They just work and these are the bits of papers and awards that accumulate.

We went into the church for the service and started going through the motions.  A very nice pastor with the most pleasant tone talked a bit about death, resurrection and the key bits of Herb’s life that he may or may not have known before the family asked him to officiate the event.  He did know Herb enough to tell a story about him dropping the grandkids off for Wednesday night church group.

Halfway into the “service,” the pastor asked folks if they wanted to say any words about Herb.  I did not expect this.  Catholics don’t do it this way.  We usually do these types of things in bars, or I post my memories on the blog.  Standing in front of a church and telling a congregation my fondest memories is a daunting thought.

Herb’s (older?) Brother got up and told THE story of their family moving to Chicago when he and his brother were very young.  They were on their own.  From the “us versus the world” imagery painted by the speaker, you would have thought they moved to the Wild West, not 1952 Chicago.  They did not have much, but they had family.  This theme circled back a few times during the talk.  Herb and his brother made a pact to stay close and do vacations together.  The stories of struggles and the values resonated so hard with me that I was lost thinking about my family in the 1970’s.  The Stahls, Giancarli’s and Fugates were not rich by any means. My Grandparents, like Herb, worked their ass off so that they could provide for the next generation.

A tough little grandaughter got up and spoke.  She definitely loved her grandpa.

A son-in-law with the thickest Chicago accent had me crying as he talked about the influence that Herb had on him after his own dad (also named Herb) had passed away when he was 30.  Even when Herb was dying of cancer, he was asking his kids “how they were doing?”

There were a few more speakers.

I was there for Angela because she hates doing these things by herself.  When the service was over, we made a quick round of goodbyes to the only people we knew.  I then shook the pastor’s hand and complimented him on the service.  It was done as well as you can want (IMO)

I did not know Herb.  I felt his vibe with the family in the room and the people who spoke.  The “brag table” that meant nothing to me earlier felt a whole lot more powerful after hearing the stories.  But, I do feel that Herb would have shook off that brag table.  His family was his brag.  He was in every person in that room.  And now a little bit is inside me.

Rest in peach Herb.