[jacket3ree]

Interesting discussion. My uncle had ALS. His decline and death were both rapid, which was a blessing I suppose. He was 88 and some of his last famous words were to his physician upon receiving the diagnosis. "You probably have anywhere between two months and several years." His response was classic: "I could have told you that before coming in this afternoon." He was 88. "Is this advice free?"

My grandfather had a second generation Corvair. Beautiful car. I remember he and my grandmother picked me and my late brother up from atop the Billings, MT Rimrock (home of the airport) when we took our first solo flight from Denver in 1971. My grandfather lost an arm in the war and he rigged everything he owned including the Corvair to deal with that disability. I generally remember the drive back to their house unsafe at whatever speed he was going and my grandmother, the nicest woman to ever grace this earth, yelling at him to remember who was in the back seat.

Times were different. No seatbelts and the only reason we arrived at all, having been dumped at the Western Airlines gate in Denver by Dad, was that my eight year old self recognized the words "Welcome to Casper, Wyoming" (apparently this was not a non-stop, not that I would know what that was) and this was indeed not where Gramafay and Grandy lived, so I hauled my five year old brother back on the plane with zero help from anyone other than a very nice flight attendant who said the plane would keep going to Billings, so getting back on was the smart thing to do. If we were going to Billings. We carried nothing but ourselves. No manifest, no note, no nothing. Our parents were on their way in the car with our baby sister due to arrive not much later that day. This was a special treat. Or maybe our parents hoped they'd be rid of two nasty boys who would get themselves lost in Casper, Wyoming.

[jacket3ree]

Interesting discussion. My uncle had ALS. His decline and death were both rapid, which was a blessing I suppose. He was 88 and some of his last famous words were to his physician upon receiving the diagnosis. "You probably have anywhere between two months and several years." His response was classic: "I could have told you that before coming in this afternoon." He was 88. "Is this advice free?"

My grandfather had a second generation Corvair. Beautiful car. I remember he and my grandmother picked me and my late brother up from atop the Billings, MT Rimrock (home of the airport) when we took our first solo flight from Denver in 1971. My grandfather lost an arm in the war and he rigged everything he owned including the Corvair to deal with that disability. I generally remember the drive back to their house unsafe at whatever speed he was going and my grandmother, the nicest woman to ever grace this earth, yelling at him to remember who was in the back seat.

Times were different. No seatbelts and the only reason we arrived at all, having been dumped at the Western Airlines gate in Denver by Dad, was that my eight year old self recognized the words "Welcome to Casper, Wyoming" (apparently this was not a non-stop, not that I would know what that was) and this was indeed not where Gramafay and Grandy lived, so I hauled my five year old brother back on the plane with zero help from anyone other than a very nice flight attendant who said the plane would keep going to Billings, so getting back on was the smart thing to do. If we were going to Billings. We carried nothing but ourselves. No manifest, no note, no nothing. Our parents were on their way in the car with our baby sister due to arrive not much later that day. This was a special treat. Or maybe our parents hoped they'd be rid of two nasty boys who would get themselves lost in Casper, Wyoming.