My Uncle Gene died at 1:00 a.m. today. He'd been sliding downhill since September; I visited him just before Thanksgiving.

A WW2 veteran, he was one of the men who stepped up help my mother with her three sons after my father died when I was five year old. I remember rabbit and squirrel hunting with him, and the vegetable gardens he loved. For the Y2K scare he told me that there would be over 100 jars of canned vegetables in his basement "and I've stocked 120 rolls of toilet paper -- if this thing doesn't happen I'll still be able to use it."

His wife, my Aunt Ruth, has developed seizures of an unknown origin in the last three or four months and is in a nursing home. She hasn't seen Uncle Gene in a month and probably won't be able to attend the funeral -- everyone expects that her own isn't far off.

I'm told that he was talking to my mother, who died in 1981, and his father (1953) last night.

Yesterday a good friend and a fine trumpeter, Greg Sparrow, died. He was a Vietnam veteran and best man at my brother's wedding.

Unfortunately I can't get to either funeral.

Please remember these two -- Uncle Gene was also a singer and played (I'm sorry, but I must tell the truth here) saxophone.