Toby didn’t put out a preblast, which was unlike him. Even more unlike him, he didn’t show up for his Q. We found out later that Toby’s wife lost her grandmother (corrected from original account), so we were all happy that we didn’t make any jokes at his expense.

Our thoughts are with you, brother! Your family is lucky to have you to lean on during their time of grief. 

The assembled pax took on the Q in a rotating fashion, with lots of merkin varieties and what wound up being a pretty damn good full-body workout, including 1.4 miles of running. Thanks, brothers, for stepping up to the plate!

We met a few other brothers at Caribou for some scintillating conversation and then went on with our mundane lives…a little older and a tiny bit better than when we arrived in the moon-washed morning darkness. 

In honor of Toby’s wife’s grandmother, a poem. . . 

The Potter

The wheel turns,
And even a gentle hand can mold,
The soft clay before it gets too old.
But as the kiln burns,
And hardens clay to stone,
The nature of the work is set,
And the artist’s job is done.

But you have left a thumbprint in the clay,
That has changed its form forever,
And will stay and stay and stay.

    – Bruce Hurley