My great-uncle E.P. Spurlin died this morning. And even though I know he wasn't aware of things, and I know this is better for him, I'm still sitting here crying at my desk. I loved that man. My aunt Frances and uncle E.P. (great-aunt, great-uncle, I referred to them without the "great-" except to explain who they were, even though they were great people) took care of me when I was sick as a kid, we went over there all the time, and ...they were just... cool people.

I don't think there's been a week that has gone by, since moving to Belton (six, maybe seven miles from where I grew up, give or take), that someone hasn't gone "Spurlin? Like, _____ Spurlin?" (where the blank is, better'n half the time, "E.P.") And it's always a family member. He was a banker for... man, like fifty years.

I had a man cut my hair the other day that remembered being in the VFW with E.P. .

Stronger than anything, and worked hard when he used to be able to.

Alzheimer's disease sucks.

And listening to him tell stories about J. Frank Dobie stuff, and just... kinda ramble like some older guys do... that was pretty awesome, really. Lived in the same town all his life -- well, once they moved to town from the farm -- fifteen miles from Temple... Married a girl from down the road from where he grew up.

That's the kind of thing that I think more people should aspire to. Seriously.