Friday, October 23, 2015
I considered him a friend; maybe you did, too. Birdman -- that's the only name he provided on his blog -- even if you and he had posted back and forth for several years. But he generously shared other sides of his life.
What did we, the virtuals, know about Birdman? He was an English teacher, who on a dare wore a kilt to school. He loved and was loved by his wife Elenka. His family lived in Maine, and he grew up somewhere on the North Atlantic coast. Had kind of a Tom Sawyer childhood, rode his bike delivering newspapers as a youth, protected birds and other wildlife, loved the sea, dreaded the dead of winter, longed for spring, traveled in summer. And most of all, he had the gift of gab, a wonderful optimism, and a talent for photography.
Birdman always struck me as the uncle or cousin you'd want to be seated next to at a Thanksgiving Day dinner. The one who could spin a yarn, tell a joke, at the appropriate time, break up any sort of tension. Kind of the Will Rogers of bloggers.
One of his October posts -- and he blogged every single day -- ended with:
"Always remember...Wishing is important. Sometimes pieces just tumble into place."
His last post is here. If he touched you too, say good-bye.