RIP Uncle David

So, we have internet, and I'm able to blog again from my little netbook. The computer won't arrive until next week, as we decided at the last minute to ship it rather than to take it as checked baggage. The hard drive is sitting on my nightstand, waiting.

A lot has happened in the last several weeks, but for this first post I should take a moment to honor my uncle, David Santogrossi, who passed away last week. Because I'm 6,000 miles away with a small child in tow, I will not be able to make it to his funeral, which is a shame. I did, however, get to see him one last time over the holidays and my son got to meet his great uncle for the first and last time.

My Uncle David was a professor of psychology and an associate dean of liberal arts at Purdue. (Random trivia: Ted Allen from Queer Eye was one of his students and a psychology major.) He was always devoted to his nieces (there are five of us, no nephews). I remember one time when I was a teenager, he came to New Mexico to visit and he and I went to Taos to have lunch with a friend and tour all of the bookstores (yes, I know where each and every one is :-). It was a long drive out and a long drive back and I saw my uncle perhaps every other year, and yet talking to him was easy. He was always genuinely interested in who I was and what I thought.

Besides being an accomplished academic, he was also a talented percussionist with an extensive collection of drums from all over the world in his home. I'll think of him every time I see my son banging on an empty cardboard box, as I think this gene may have been passed on. David performed regularly with musical groups and in pit orchestras for shows, and knew more Broadway show tunes than just about anyone I've ever met, and that is saying something, given how many musicians I know.

While I'll miss him terribly, I'd rather spend my time remembering his life rather than mourning his death. Once I get my computer, I'll start pestering relatives for material for a Picasa scrapbook. One great pity is that David never had children of his own, but there are enough of us who carry his memory to ensure that he'll never be forgotten.