Rest In Party!

My Uncle Walt was always the life of the party. For my time in Columbus, Ohio, however, he's in the role of death of the party.

Walt pretty much ruled. He taught my sister how to make a martini when she was five, so that he didn't have to get up to refill his glass. If you made him go get it himself, he made such a production of getting out of his chair, that you usually broke down and got it for him anyway. He traveled with bowling ball bags filled with liquor. At a cousin's wedding a few years ago, he mixed me a drink without asking me what I wanted. When I apologized and told him that I'm allergic to alcohol, he looked at me horrified for a second before shouting, "Life's not worth LIVING!"

The only thing in Walt's life debatably more sacred than cocktail hour(s) was the Sacred itself. Walt was an incredibly well-respected theologian who taught in Lutheran seminaries for decades. His politics were hard-line Democratic, and I can think of few people who accepted social change over the course of a lifetime better than Walt, from feminism to gay rights. The War in Iraq caused him genuine heartbreak.

I don't want to imply that Walt didn't have his flaws. He did. Boy, did he. But I will be eternally grateful to Uncle Walt for two of the more significant events of my life. First, he gave a beautiful eulogy at my dad's funeral. Second... My wife and I asked Walt to stand in for my father and bless our marriage, in what was otherwise a secular ceremony. Walt managed to do that beautifully, as well, and did it without mentioning God, which we didn't even request.

Since I've always intended B&E to be more of an anger and laughter destination, rather than an overly personal experience about my innermost feelings, I'll sign off with this...

While I wait for my mom and sister to arrive, I am sans car. When I asked the hotel's front desk where I could get food within walking distance, the woman looked at me blankly for a moment (similar to Walt's expression upon learning I can't really drink), then winced and sent me to East of Chicago Pizza. Columbus is, in fact, East of Chicago. But the pizza they were serving wasn't Chicago-style at all, and best I can tell, the national chain website bears little resemblance to the creature I frequented. And I say "creature" because, for reasons I still haven't figured out, the decor was Jurassic themed.