This past new year's day my old pal Andrew passed away at age 38. And now I'm sitting here trying to figure out what to say at his memorial service we are holding out at Camp St. Croix in a week. The guy was just so much larger than life that it is nearly impossible to believe that he's no longer here. My kids regularly pester me to tell them an 'Andrew story' and I do and I love it and we all laugh and then it hits that there are going to be no more new Andrew stories. That sucks. When I was around Andrew, his light just shone so brightly, it makes the loss seem ever so much darker. Thank goodness we do have so many Andrew stories to remember. Here are some of my favorites:
The time on a 'night off' from our counseling duties when a small group of us went to the DQ in Hudson. Andrew had with him a small can of sardines (where did he get them from? We were all living out at camp, was this a common midnight snack for him?) and somehow he talked the 12 year old employee into making him a sardine blizzard. I can't imagine what the equipment smelled like after that. For how long did blizzard consumers imagine that their favorite treat had a somewhat fishy smell this time around? In truth, he had been grooming the counter staff for the sardines for weeks. During previous visits he had produced more palatable mixins such as Lorna Doones and graham crackers- each time persuading a young employee to break a rule and mix in Andrew's secret treats. Anyway, the sardine blizzard was horrendous. If I'm not mistaken he made us each try a bite. Then a convertible of rowdy boys sidled up next to us and were getting a little territorial. Andrew offered them the blizzard as a peace offering. They grabbed it, hooted, and peeled out down the road. Within a block we heard a horrible scream and the blizzard was chucked onto the road. We did not stick around to see if they were coming back to thank us.
On the epic backpacking trip in the Yukon back in '92: Andrew and John had so many crazy things in their bags. One of them was the red plastic handset from a child's toy phone. As we were driving along through that bleak unpopulated landscape toward our next destination Andrew would make a ringing sound then 'answer' his phone (this was before cell phones- I don't even think those gigantic 10 pound car phones had come into existence yet) and have long conversations with imaginary people- mostly food delivery types. He'd order us up a spectacular pizza and then pass the phone up to Steve at the wheel so Steve could give the delivery guy our address. Steve had no choice but to play along, although it pained him to do so.
Checkers. Night after night in the tent in the yukon Andrew demanded that I play checkers with him. Now, I never liked that game and I'm not so good, but I'm also not dumb, but man, could he make me feel so. I swear I could only make two moves before he had captured every last one of my checkers. And believe me, he pounced on them and shouted out 'king me' with glee, each and every time.
That trip was the perfect opportunity for Andrew to play his endless pranks- the army men that were set up all over my sleeping bag after I feel asleep, the marionette, Maria, who gave directions when we were lost, the endless shenanigans of Benny, the dismembered ventriloquist doll that every good backpacker knows to pack, the scratch and sniff Mr. T stickers that got plastered all over the Yukon- I bet that at one point the stickers out numbered humans in that territory, the endless 'song game' where Andrew tricked me into singing Rockin Robin on the hour, every hour, the bandit eye mask that he would don as he emerged from a clump of bushes- he was a constant and consistent source of laughts, but the trip was also the perfect place to witness Andrew's compassionate side.
During those endless Yukon twilights, when the sun didn't really ever set, Andrew and I spent hours chatting awat in the tent. He told me all about this woman he was falling for, Tina. I had only met her a time or two, but the way Andrew talked about her made me fall in love with her as well. And the way he helped me out when the physical part of our trip got hard. That time as we made a frightening river crossing, the boulders clanking past our legs underwater were deafening and the river just above freezing. I honestly don't think I would have made it if I had not been holding the hand of Andrew and our other pal Andy. I remember how I just wanted to crumble down and quit about a yard from the opposite bank and Andrew and Andy literally dragged me out of that river. And later, when my feet started to go numb and I became a stumbler- of course it gave him a chuckle (as it did me), but he offered to lighten my load, despite the fact that his pack was filled with ventriloquist dolls, marionettes, and army men. He had room to make my load lighter.
And isn't that what he did best? Despite the fact that the load he was carrying was often heavy, he was always able to lighten the load of those around him through his tremendous gift of humor and bright shiny intelligence? The man did not do ordinary. He lived large, and those of us who happened into his circle every now and then, he knew how to bring us along for the ride, how to turn the most mundane moment into something memorable and fabulous. I am so thankful for the years we got to share and the stories I will always have tucked away in my heart. I know my boys will keep asking for Andrew stories, and I look forward to each retelling, each opportunity to remember a little something else about this sweet man.
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