That was the title for the last post—Thanks for the memories….—published on January 4th, 2019 on a blog called Writing to Myself by “Alan G.”
Sometimes, people stop blogging and you never know what happened to them. Today, through a non-blogging connection, I learned that Alan passed away on June 18th.
Alan had set his blog up as a self-hosting publication. In January 2019, the hosting fee was coming due and Alan decided that he didn’t have any more that he wanted to write about and that he was going to let the blog go after having blogged periodically since April 2006.
In memory of another blogger, here’s some of Alan Ginocchio’s thoughts, in his own words:
January 4, 2019
I just feel that after some twelve years I have given a pretty good accounting of myself and my life. My life is in its final phase now (although I should emphasize I am not on my death bed) and my quality of life is quite limited. And although recently I have written a fair amount regarding health and dying, it’s not something I really enjoy writing about. I would much rather be writing about my trip to the Grand Canyon or relating the story about the big fish I caught but… those days are gone.
I may have to bear looking at these four walls, so to speak, but I refuse to sit here and write about them. I’ve enjoyed my time with all the bloggers who I have interacted with and gotten to know over the years. (Well, most of them) And it is my intent to stay in touch through your blogs as much as possible.
January 1, 2019
As to the “eeny, meeny, miny, moe”, well it has always been my tradition since being afflicted with several health issues in my old age to speculate on when my last New Year would arrive. And although its not normal that we really have any choice in the matter, sooner or later you and I will welcome in a New Year with little knowledge usually that it is our last. But I would like to think I have some measure of choice in the matter.
In the next four-year window, which by the way am considering as quite generous in regards to longevity estimations for myself, I have 2019 (eeny), 2020 (meeny), 2021 (miny), and 2022 (mo) as my choices. I have to say outright that 2019 just really sucks. There is nothing at all attractive about that year to me. Now 2020… okay now we are getting somewhere. 20-20, like a great eye exam, gives off the familiarity that you had a good death. I can boast to my friends in the afterlife that I had a 20-20 death. Now how cool is that?
December 25, 2018
Christmas morning in the 1970’s… It was obvious at the onset that it was a pair of shoes by the shape, size and weight of the box but that was okay, I’ve always had a thing for shoes. I noted the gift was from my mother and believe you me, no one had a sense of fashion like my mother. Now, I know you have seen this before. I’m sure most folks have seen that look when someone opens a gift and the contents seems to completely shut down their mind. They are in complete bewilderment as to what they are looking at and why it belongs to them. For the gift recipient it’s like an out-of-body experience and your sure this is all actually happening to someone else. I know everyone in the room noticed my reaction including my mother as I grabbed hold of the shoes. lifted them out of the box and sat them on my lap. Even to this day my little sister says she remembers the look on my face!
But there they were in all their patriotic glory, a pair of red, white and blue wingtip shoes. I know I must have stared at them for an eternity when my mother finally chimed in and noted, “I thought those shoes would really complement your blue suit with the red stitching. Especially when you are wearing your red and white paisley dress shirt.” As I sheepishly thanked my mom for my gift I knew even she had detected my bewilderment and puzzlement over the gift. As I sat the shoes down next to me I knew deep down in my heart already that I would never, ever put those shoes on my feet and I had at least one good thing going in my favor, I actually worked and lived in a town some seventy miles from where my mother lived so she would never know one way or the other whether I was wearing them or not.
…after some two years or so believe it or not I began wearing the shoes. Much of that probably propagated by the fact I was a part-time musician usually playing at supper clubs and restaurants in the evenings. In that context, it seemed much more natural to be wearing such flashy shoes. Eventually I passed them off to some clothing charity and often wondered what may have ever happened with them. In hindsight it may have been one of the dumbest things I ever did.
The town that Alan lived and worked in at the time of this last little story would have been Russellville, Arkansas, where he was an electrical field engineer for the construction of the nuclear plants—where I came to work a few years later.
