Grandpa

He had the softest hands. Not like a rabbit's fur, or a baby's cheek... they were aged. Weathered, but not coarse. They were infinitely smooth, and where the crows feet ended in his face, they continued in his palms. They were soft, wizened, and dry, and this is probably going to be one of the memories that stays with me the longest. Why? Because he always gave high-fives. to everybody. He had straight, strong, elegant hands - i think they were definitely bassoon hands.

i'll remember his computer room. The room that was intended for brooms, mops and vacuum cleaners, but was packed instead with cutting edge sound equipment, a modest LP collection, Macintosh paraphernalia, and books. Not packed in the disordered, chaotic sense - rather, the walls were covered from floor to ceiling, and there was a tiny slot for his chair.

He loved digital photography - he loved the digital age.... the biggest tragedy of his death was that he would have delighted in every new technological marvel, through fresher eyes than mine. Technology actually MEANS something to people born before 1950.

He loved his cabbage. He never drank alcohol - I only learned this a few days ago, but it struck me powerfully. Why does anybody really need to drink it? Perhaps in the quiet of your study, with a few quiet friends....a glass of something unassuming and comforting could add to the atmosphere...but how much more does your brain assimilate... how much more do you retain.... and how much more potential would there be for that wasted time? Don't worry - this is just momentary... I had a glass of beer tonight. I'm such a hypocrite

Science fascinated him. Sound fascinated him. The science of sound... well... let's call it an obsession. His mind was something truly special - he was never labeled a genius, but I think that's only because he didn't have to be. He had infinite patience.

He was probably the dearest grandfather any little girl could ever wish for. He was not gruff, he had no pretensions, and he pushed no religion, no political advice. No pressure. I wonder what he was up to in the 1970s..

He laughed when I didn't get one of his jokes, or when I was slow on the uptake... and he would say... "sound travels slow in here."

I mean - he's from albuquerque. I don't think it gets much better than that. He had the southwest in his veins.