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Date: Sunday, November 14, 1999
Reflections Introduction
When I agreed to kick off the Reflections portion of Dad's funeral, I knew that I wouldn't have to spend much time trying to think of anything to say, because, 1.) I always have something to say, and 2.) No one is ever at a loss for thinking of something to say about Dad. Of course, I knew that I would be limiting what I said to memories of the good times and warm fuzzies, but I didn't expect to have to spend a great deal of time thinking about what I was going to say. Immediately, from that moment, my mind began to be full of all the things I might say. Semed like any time I wasn't busy with something, I was mentally going over what I might say when the time came. When finally I got up there to talk, about all I really knew I would do is that I would make my comments brief, to allow as many people to share as possible. That would paint a much better picture of what Dad was like, if many people shared the brush.
However, because I had spent quite a bit of time thinking, I couldn't fail to notice that most of what could have been said, was never heard, and indeed could never be heard in such a forum. It struck me that if all those things that remained unspoken, were gathered like so many Easter eggs, it would fill quite a large volume. With that end in mind, I decided to be the first to pick up the brush the second time and mention some of the things that I wished I would have had the time to communicate to that gathering of very special people. It is my desire to copy this first chapter of "Vyron Northup; In Memorium" to the WEB on the page that at present contains one lone poem, written by Dad many years ago, "The Hobo and the Garden Patch". I thought maybe I woud collect together some photographs to display there, and of course, I am inviting you all to submit little jewles like the one Frank related and the one Dean responded with. In fact, I would challenge you all to write an entire chapter. If it seems a little early for you to put these things into words, keep it in your mind like the polished pebble a young boy has carried in the pockets of his trousers through many launderings. I suspect that after a time it will form itself into something very substantial that you would love to finallly share with the rest of the world.
With no further ado, then, Vyron Northup; In Memorium, Part one:
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