Rod, Don, and Harlie Privette
This week, goldfinches, purple finches, morning doves, barn swallows, and bluebirds came back to the feeders on our lawn rolling to the banks of the Cloquet River. It was 86 degrees out at the house yesterday, a record, I am certain, for May 18th in NE Minnesota. Spring has unfolded with a rapidity that matches the speed of my family’s life. The Munger family seems to be racing into the future at an unreasonably hurried clip. There’s no question that my wife and I need to slow down a bit. Here’s just a snippet of what we’ve been through the past seven days.
The lead picture to this article is of three brothers. Don, Rod, and Harlie Privette all grew up at 2716 W. 3rd Street in the modest workingman’s neighborhood of the West End in Duluth. It wasn’t called Lincoln Park back then and I’ll not diminish the memory of my father-in-law by hanging some moniker on the place he called home that isn’t true. Last year at about this time, my wife lost her mom, Mercedes Privette. Merc’s death was a sudden, unexpected event that sent the family for a loop. In contrast, Don’s death, while mourned to be sure, was wholly expected. He’d battled emphysema and diabetes and heart issues for the last third of his life. Though the folks at the Franciscan Home on Park Point took great care of him, it was a tough last couple of years. For a man used to carrying a rifle in the woods during deer season, or switching railroad cars for the BN, or pulling monster northern pike from a hole in the ice during below zero weather, sitting day after day in a wheel chair surrounded by other old folks in the same plight, well, that wasn’t living. And though there was an element of blessing to Don’s joining Merc this past week, the family still is working through its grief.
AJ Munger Enters the World.
Just before Grandpa Don left us, Adrien James Munger joined the family. He was born to my oldest son, Matt, and his wife Lisa, on May 11th. (Lisa, of course, would reverse the order of that phrase!) For those of you who missed the announcement on Facebook, yes, A.J. was the reason Matt and Lisa missed my book launch last Thursday at Teatro Zuccone. Seems the little guy wasn’t willing to wait until after his grandpa got done talking to join us. He was making his way into the world as the music played, as the words were read, and as friends, family, and fans gathered together to celebrate Laman’s River. I used to think that the launch of a new book felt somewhat akin to the birth of a new child. Not even close. A.J. is the star of the week: I’m just a shoddy old sideshow.
Grandpa Harry Fishing the Whiteface
Those of you who read this blog regularly recognize the last photo in this post. It’s of my dad, Harry Munger, and was taken last weekend during the Minnesota Fishing Opener on Whiteface Lake north of Duluth. I’ll not repeat the story told about the Munger men and their fishing exploits here: That fable has already been penned. But in the seven days that comprise the week, yesterday was another milestone for the Munger family. One day after putting Grandpa Don to rest at Oneota Cemetary, Grandpa Harry, the patriarch of the Munger clan, went in for carotid artery surgery at St. Luke’s Hospital. So there we were, my sister, Annie, my brother Dave, me, and Harry’s significant other, Pauline, sipping hospital coffee and telling old stories as the surgeons did their work. Turns out, the docs knew what they were doing: Harry pulled through just fine. He’s not in any shape today, less than 24 hours after the procedure, to read this blog. But maybe Pauline can read it to him.
My mom, perpetually young-at-heart, also had a little dose of reality this week. She went in for cataract surgery. A minor procedure, to be sure. But when a guy in a white coat messes with your eyes, one never can be too sure things are going to go well. They did. She’s fine.
Toss into this mix of life the fact that I worked some at the courthouse, wrote some at my iMac, mowed and trimmed the lawn, and let Jack drive my Pacifica for the first time (he’s 14 and will be eligible for his driver’s permit soon), and you get a glimpse of the whirlwind that Rene’ and I endured these past seven days. But the most memorable incident or event of the week?
It was me holding my newborn grandson A.J. at Grandpa Don’s funeral: an experience that put a period on the sentence that was Donald E. Privette’s life.
Rest in peace, Grandpa Don.
Mark
