An open letter to George Robbins...

There were days that we would find eachother: lost in languid afternoons 
amongst fleeting sparrows and the sun, midnight maladies made into 
comprehensible candor...  

We discussed why things were, but never focused on deriving actual definition. 


Time always seemed easier in the eyes of the contented.


And there were many times I felt amiss and distracted and with no more than a 
casual smirk and one poignant eyebrow, I easily understood that things would 
somehow be okay.  

Your wisdom was more than just knowledge; it was inspiration and a familiar 
grounded sense of all your surroundings.


More than the pulse of a family, you seemed to be the center of gravity at times.  
You possessed our trust and our faith, and managed to rectify each minor 
catastrophy with the ease and (generally) the patience of a wise patriarch.


I will miss the wiry mustache twitch, the listless snore of a man well labored 
(and the inevitable scalding for waking him up), the snarl and grin for countless 
inquiries and steps to finding a solution to any given problem, the impromptu 
commissioning of soon-to-be-patiented computer accessories, the wednesday night 
train rides that were never long enough.


Dear George,
	Thank You.  The sparrows have their way.