Uncle Lyman

Big brother Buzz has been furiously researching our family history. My hat's off to him for 1) a largely thankless task, and 2) unearthing things better left, well, earthed.

Uncle Lyman sort of falls in the middle here.  First off, he wasn't my uncle - he was my great uncle, married to one of my Mom's aunts. (Small point here - it is pronounced as spelled, NOT like small annoying bugs).

Anyway, Uncle Lyman loved his annual vacation, renting a cottage in a small fishing village - ours - of all the places on earth. He generously invited a young Boston townie to join them each year. She of the infamous orange bathing suit attracted my Dad's attention in something under 23 seconds, and happily, I am here as a result.

But back to Uncle Lyman. He would wake up early, eagerly greeting the new day and promptly take a dive into the harbor for a refreshing swim.

I use the term "refreshing" in the politest of ways.  I've seen unsuspecting vacationers take a dive, and it is the really rare one that doesn't come up screaming.

I have summered there for my entire life, and even on the warmest of days, the first thing I do is turn the heat on when I wake up. Since any sort of plunge into 60 degree water NEVER enters my mind, I am forced to assume Uncle Lyman was certifiable.

These sorts of family stories are what we keep telling Buzz - TMI. Stop now.