Facebook is a strange thing. It was a shock to start reading through recent status updates this morning and discover that my cousin "Clancy" (David Scott McClure) had died in a motorcycle accident. I was surprised nobody had called to tell me. Even Peach apparently forgot to mention it when I spoke with her yesterday afternoon.
This is not a traumatic loss for me. Clance moved away from California years ago and I really never knew him in adulthood. He was larger than life the last time I saw him, which might have been some time in the 1980s, at our very first family reunion.
The reunion was held at a resort somewhere in the Sierra foothills. We had brought our newest visitor from Brasil, a very sour dispositioned kid who hated being with us and was angry with his parents for sending him. I thought maybe being around a lot of family would help soften him up. Nothing could be further from the truth, thanks to Clancy.
My cousin, like so many in my extended family, liked to drink and he got very drunk at this event and started throwing people in the resort's swimming pool, clothed or not clothed. Ricardo found nothing funny about all this raucous activity and was livid when he was unable to escape and landed, fully clothed, in the pool. Heck, NOBODY at that party escaped, not even my oldest aunt, who must have been in her mid-80s at the time.
Clancy was big and loud and uninhibited. Tragic as this death is, I can't think of a more perfect way for Clancy to die than riding a motorcycle, no doubt continuing to get the most out of life that he could.
Another death this week was Evelyn Dewsnup, who was the high school drama teacher when our kids were in high school. The thing I remember most about Mrs. Dewsnup was how tolerant she was of Paul. Paul was forever working late at the theatre, building sets or hanging lights or whatever the heck they were doing, and showing up late to Mrs. Dewsnup's 8 a.m. class, but he was such a good actor and worked so hard on all aspects of theatre that she still gave him good grades. One time she had a meeting with him and showed him that he had been late or missed class something like 30 times during this grading period. "I just can't give you an A this time," she told him. She gave him a B.
There was another time when the students had to prepare a monologue and during the course of the week, they all got up in front of the class to deliver their monologues. Paul prepared his and actuallY went to class on time on the day he was scheduled to perform. When Mrs. Dewsnup came to his name she said "Paul's not here, so we'll skip him for now..." and he had to let her know that actually he was there.
I don't remember when she retired, and I think the theatre program at the high school is much more vibrant with a younger teacher, but she was a special lady and a special teacher who was very tolerant of theatre kids who were "different."
Cousins day was another great success, especially for me, since I won 3 of the 6 games we played. My mother won 2 and Peach won 1. Kathy grumbled.
Kathy also decided that our "boob" was getting to look bedragled, so she decided to replace it with a new one (they are sold in pairs, so she already had one at home)
My mother, who lives in terror of being awarded the boob (which you get if you get to talking and not concentrating on the game and accidently discard a wild card) was not thrilled.
I'm not sure why she was worried. She only got it once and I got it twice.
Kathy made Moscow Mules for drinks, with Cock 'n' Bull ginger beer.
Peach brought a heat-and-serve hors d'oeuvre and I made a really tasty (I thought) middle eastern type chicken dish, with a fruited couscous on the side (nobody else had ever heard of couscous)
It wasn't the most wildly popular thing I've ever brought to cousins day, but everyone thought it was at least "verrrrry interrrresting." Best of all, I had leftover couscous for me to have for lunch and enough chicken and couscous for Walt to have some for lunch as well.
We reminisced a bit about Clancy and were amazed that he had lived as long as he did (he was 57) because he was a hard livin' hard drinkin' hard playin' guy and died doing something that he loved. Which is a nice way to go out, I guess.
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