I am very sad to report that Popsie has passed away - yesterday evening. In my thoughts, he is already staking out a garden where he will plant his own too-may-dahs, some basa-nigole, and some mint for the iced tea. And while I will miss him, he was 82 and had had prostate cancer for a few years. I feel more sad because I think he wasn't happy - I know I wouldn't have been if I were in his slippers - but I don' t know what he felt about his life. I do know he lived in a completely different world than I did. He was born about 1920, I think he grew up relatively poor, was drafted to the Pacific theater in WWII, and married Nana years later. I don't believe he was happy his whole life the way I would define it - but he didn't expect to be either. He lived near the Sound, he (always) had a cat named Piper, he had his own, homegrown tomatoes, and his own basignole - and plenty of napkins and salt and pepper packets from the best franchise restaurants on Long Island. And I bet he thought that was pretty good.
Good Gravy Hannah, Popsicle. I love you.