I met Sig in 1970, and I then, gradually met his family. There was a bank of uncles and aunts; they were tall, striking people with high cheekbones. The women had sparkling eyes and all knew how to cook; the men were really crazy about strong coffee and liked to drink it in sturdy mugs.

When I met his uncle, Steve McCool, my first thought was, I cannot believe how cool it is to have a name like McCool. I said, “Nice to meet you.”

Over the years, I saw Steve at family gatherings – and I was always glad to see him, to sit down beside him and talk about what was up. He was always upbeat, always interesting, always other-centered.

Steve was 93 when he died mid April. His two sons planned a service for him today. It was a perfect farewell for him, it was upbeat and focused on what comes next in the great beyond.  And afterwards, there was a lunch in the Fellowship Hall with all manner of  sandwiches and Lutheran jello salads.

It’s too bad that the guest of honor is not there when you throw the perfect party. Steve would have been so at home with all of the guests, so pleased with the music, so appreciative of the lunch.

And still all I could think about is how cool it was to be named “McCool.” And, I know he would have gotten a big kick outta that.