Gerret Wikoff and a pumpkin are pictured.

I didn’t experience heavy weather this past weekend in terms of shoveling snow; instead, the rains on the West Coast caused my flight to Burbank, California, to take twice as long as originally scheduled.

The staff at Albany International Airport takes great pride in their ability to keep planes flying no matter the weather. Thus, my decision to ignore the wringing hands on the Albany news channels and head for the airport was well-placed. Thursday morning, Feb. 13, was no different. The airport crew shrugged off the sleet and snow, de-iced my plane, and we took off for Chicago less than 10 minutes behind schedule.

So far, so good, and my bet that a window of calm would open the Chicago runways, as predicted by the Weather Channel, was also correct. What I didn’t and others didn’t anticipate was a deluge in Las Vegas; more rain in a shorter period than they’ve experienced in decades. Thus, for the next four hours, I waited in Chicago.

Far worse than being stuck in Chicago is being stuck at the Las Vegas airport for four hours. Crammed with slot machines, the sound and visual assault on the senses is overwhelming. Unless one is fortunate enough to have an airline club pass, which I don’t, finding a place to relax is impossible. Heavier rains had closed the Burbank Airport. Finally, it cleared up enough to load our plane, and we sat there for another hour.

My good fortune was to be seated between two pilots being ferried to Burbank so they could fly another plane back to Vegas. It was fun checking out their iPads, which had the most detailed weather maps I have ever seen, including the locations of all incoming and outbound flights. Through them, I gained quite an education in flying from a pilot’s perspective, which included their very different approaches to achieving the skills to fly commercial jets.

James

All the rain and mudslides I experienced ended up as heavy snow that blanketed the Adirondacks and New England. My brother Chris, who flew out on Friday, was weather-impacted differently. Pilots who flew in Albany so late needed more time before departing the next day. Thus, his flight out was delayed by a shortage of rested pilots. Once Chris could leave, he missed connections and had a very long travel day.

Our reason for coming to California was for an L.A. celebration of our brother Gerret’s life in a city where he and his wife Cheryl lived and raised their three children, and their Pieter and daughter-in-law Crystal and their children live (there will be a Lake Placid celebration Saturday, June 28).

I am a fan of celebrating a person’s life.

My brother Gerret, like many, said he didn’t want a celebration, but such celebrations are not for the recently departed but for the living to help them process their loss and share stories about a person who died.

They provide everyone with insights about the loved one that they might not have known before.

Naj and Chris Wikoff with pool cue.

For example, in my experience, Gerret was a terrible cook, possibly surprising for one who grew up in the hotel business and worked as a waiter at the Mirror Lake Inn, Placid Manor, Red La Fountain’s Steak and Stinger, and elsewhere. But left to his own devices, he’d cook himself a hot dog and make himself a vanilla milkshake. That sustained through high school and college until he moved to New York, where he discovered spreading cream cheese on bagels. He would purchase slices of pizza and In & Out burgers when he moved to California, but cook nada, from my experience.

Lo and behold, I learned that he eventually radically improved his cooking skills, perhaps inspired by Cheryl, but I heard praise from multiple corners. I discovered that he had specialties; i.e., the only pie he ever baked was a Key Lime pie, and he baked it well. Gerret also became very proficient at cooking spare ribs and various Mexican dishes. The surprises kept coming.

Gerret’s celebration was held in a pool hall as he loved playing pool, not as much as he liked playing chess, telling puns, and attending dragster races, but he did have a custom pool stick with hand carved and decorated handle. His kids decided that Chris and I should play a pool game, with the winner getting the pool cue, which we both used during the game. As we had a pool table at Happy Jack’s growing up, we were both reasonably adept, but that was fifty years ago. People paced bets, all on Chris, truth be told, but after a long close round, I won. We decided that the winner would keep the cue for just one year, and once again, on the anniversary of G’s celebration of life, we’d play again to see who would hold on to it for the next year.

To Cheryl’s sister, DD, Gerret was her lifeline; time after time, he rescued her starting the very first day she arrived in California with $200 and a car that died on arrival. Seeing the sick beast, he towed it to his garage and repaired it, the first of many such repairs on this and several other cars. He also brought her cast-off furniture and equipment from people’s houses he was refurbishing, and, after fixing them up, made her apartment far more livable. When DD could rent more suitable lodging, Gerret and his crew were there to move her.

Of course, celebrating someone’s life includes far more than sharing stories. My niece Christy has twin boys who lost their grandfather Poppop, who played with them every weekend, taught them how to play chess and read Calvin and Hobbes to them. So, Christy, her brother Pieter, and I spent an afternoon tossing footballs, kicking soccer balls with the twins, and walking in a hilly park for good measure. I am unsure who wore who out, but we were exhausted by the day’s end.

Naj and Chris Wikoff with cousins Lorrie and Lisa Maxwell.

Meeting unexpected people was fun, too. For me, one was James, a homeless man who lived on a stone bench near the Burbank train station. James keeps all his worldly goods in a highly decorated roller bag covered with metal badges and other artifacts he discovered on the Los Angeles streets and alleyways. James’ roller bag is now so heavy that it’s hard for him to roll it about, yet he can’t stop adding to it. “Life’s like that,” said James.