Our good friend, John Wassell, passed away at 1:05PM on Good Friday.
The timing, as always, was unexpected. His generous heart just stopped beating. He left Cheryl, the love of his life, two dogs, two cats, siblings, in-laws, friends and neighbors.
John was proud of his American Indian heritage and I thought of John as the last living hippie in Florida. He was a bearded luddite, shunned TV and computers for the most part, read books like crazy, built a wooden cottage amidst the towering oaks, and planted gardens that featured small altars of his found art.
We valued many of the same kinds of things in this world. Odd things, small things maybe, like the patina on an oxidized tea pot, a model of a Indian Motorcycle, or a wooden sword. These tokens seem to be waiting for their placement in his towering hippie forest.
May we rest in peace without him.
What do dogs know?