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After a Sunday evening filled with wall-to-wall video weather wizards spouting impending dire doom from potential tornados that might be lurning in the storm darkened skies, the sun came up on a bright and sunny Monday Memorial Day. Of my seven real uncles (I don’t count my five uncles by marriage as real uncles) five served in WWII and I salute them for their service.
My favorite was the youngest and my namesake … Uncle Jerome. OK, you ask, how could an uncle named Jerome be the namesake of a guy named Robert? Thank a busy-body nun at Sacred Heart Grade School who was convinced he would have a far, far better school-life if he went by his middle name (Robert) than his given name (Jerome). I thank that un-named nun, too, Because by the time I popped into the world, his entire family was calling him Bob instead of Jerry.
OMG, shades of the Village People before their time!
My Uncle Bob was my last surviving uncle. He passed away early this year at age 89.
Due to the overflow of old toys she refuses to throw away, I had to build my faithful companion a new toy box. Now if I can only get her to pick up all the toys see scatters on the floor looking for the one she wants to play with.
Oh, by the way, due to the chill this morning she decided to sleep-in.