My Uncle Ray died last week. We had never lived within 1000 miles of each other, thus my memories of Ray are limited. But the one thing I will never forget—and that I loved and admired about him—was his ability to enter a room, make everyone laugh with only a few chosen words, and then quietly disappear out the back door without telling a soul. I think a lot of us could learn a thing or two from that.

Ray was a Vietnam vet, a hell of a golfer, and more. He also owned and maintained our Porsche for thirty years, and for that I will be eternally grateful to him. I’ll think of him every time I take a corner a little faster than I probably should.

Today we celebrated All Saints Day—in which the adult spirits return to visit—by keeping the kids up late and heading out for what was rumored to be a small parade. We went early, the kids played and had fun, but after a couple of hours the parade had yet to begin, Lowe was wiping his hands together to let us know he was all done, and Ouest was asking to be carried home. So much for a celebration.