TRIBUTES POURING IN

We went ahead with a July 4th barbecue for 10 last night (a day early, yes) because: a) I had made all the food; and b) my father was a true party hound, always up for a drink or a crowd, always the life of every gathering, the perfect host, elegant and charming and making all the ladies drool, and if there were a piano in evidence, playing and singing old time favourites of his, often in Norwegian (and always in the key of D flat, Denis says). So last night turned into "his" night, at least it did for me. My lovely friend Claire skaoled him with these words, which she had had a friend translate into Norwegian for her, and which she then delivered, in Norwegian, despite not speaking it. I became a bit teary (due to sentiment,  not pronunciation):

"En skal for den store viking Odd Knut Ronning, en hengiven or trofast mann, far or bestefar. Han blir veldig savnet. Vu onsker han en trygg reise ombord hans viking skip."

("A toast to the great Viking, Odd Knut Ronning, devoted husband, father and grandfather, who will be sorely missed. We wish his longship safe passage.")

And, from Bob Bowers, a fan, on my mother's facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/peg.lynchronning

I have spent the past two days answering emails, all so kind and hugely appreciated and full of the loveliest words about that dear man, who I choose to remember looking devastatingly hansdome in his beautifully-tailored silk business suit, gold cuff links and tie pin--off to work, and smelling deliciously of aftershave.

Last night I got an email from Bonnie saying about a week ago, when Odd was still capable of sitting up, he called her over to the bed and handed her his gold ring, which he'd just removed, asking her if she would place it somewhere safe. This was his engineering ring, he called it, from Norway, which they'd all got at graduation. He never took it off, ever.

So…he knew, didn't he? Then. He must have.

It'll go to Alex, Alex should have it.

Peg had the Hospice team dress him in "something brown" she said, Daddy's favourite colour. I hope it wasn't sweatpants but I guess it doesn't matter. When I'd gone through his closet last fall and was getting rid of things I knew he'd no longer have any use for, I'd saved out a nice shirt, tie, shoes, socks, and a business suit. Brown, of course. Well, more taupe.

Peg's up and down, one minute being tearful and the next making applesauce or obsessing again about getting to the dentist in Fairfield. We're keeping The Staff in place 24hrs for the moment. Expensive but I don't want her alone. Friends have been "just marvellous", as Odd would say, going over there, driving up, driving down to keep her company and be a distraction. I'm so grateful. Just hope that she is. 

I'm trying now to write Odd's obit for the Berkshire Eagle and for Aftenposten in Norway but having problems because I don't have his CV or any biog info here, it's all in Becket. Told the Staff where to look and they found it all but the scanning has defeated them, they keep saying they've sent it but all I get is one page of Odd stuff which only takes him up to grammar school so not very useful, eight pages that have "PDF" as a sort of faint watermark but are otherwise blank and, for some reason, two pages of an anecdote looks like Peg typed maybe twenty years ago, about when she played Puck in high school in Minnesota, which has nothing to do with anything. I hope. Will soldier on. And deal with the bloody boundary dispute over there, which has hotted up. Have been keeping the guy at bay as best I can, claiming work (true) and am hoping "my father died" will gain me a couple of weeks of him feeling sorry for me because he starts hitting me with downloads of deeds and town tax plans again.