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Recent News... Just for Pope Gregory... |
2004-11-14 - 11:29 a.m. Stop all the clocks When I cry, my eyes turn a brilliant green. They�ve been green most of the weekend. My friend is gone. I was looking at his parrot, the one from his Halloween pirate costume, laying on the living room table and that struck me as unbearably sad. I am become a name; Gyrth Oldcastle, Duke, poet, knight, counselor, peer, founder of Clan Oldcastle, a man heaped with titles and honors. Yet, he always introduced himself a Gyrth. Never assuming you knew him, never stringing together the alphabet soup of titles. This was the man I watched try to flee his Laurel ceremony by ditching out the back of the Barn. Also, saw him employ that same surprising speed to leap a fence and explain to the camp next door that �Eric the Awful� was not an appropriate anthem for the dawn hours. I will miss him, this man who taught me so much by simply being himself. I will always count the time I shared with him as a privilege. And, I will remember the many Gyrth stories, like the last one he left in my guestbook � I heartily support public urination, although I refrain nowadays because of my wife's tender sensibilities and it's so much harder sans a right leg. As a youth, I spent many an hour and many a fine spray baptizing all the more noteworthy buildings and landmarks in Manhattan. This usually occured betwenn the hours of 2-4AM. You name a building, I peed on it. The major exception would be Grants' Tomb because it is patrolled by gun-toting US Park police and they politely asked me to go away. � which caused me to laugh for fifteen minutes. That's how I'll remember Gyrth, dispensing humor and never realizing when it was wisdom. Still, my eyes will be green for many more days, missing his laughing blue eyes. � � � 
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