My wife and I have been spending the last several months in Florida, caregiving for her brother Phil. He passed away yesterday at 70 years old. For those who knew Phil, he certainly was one of a kind person…with no filter. It didn’t matter if you loved him him or hated him, he certainly left an impression.
Phil and I bonded well in this time from January 8th to now. His sense of humor with me stayed strong-him a long-haired hippy freak, and me that college-trained know-it-all. We bounced barbs and practical jokes back and forth until he died. I usually won. Or so I thought…
Phil loved puzzles. The thought of putting things back together was exciting. As I now am clearing out his home, I have found many puzzles. I believe nine boxes.
But I have another puzzle that he left me to put back together, a 1993 Harley Davidson Softail Deluxe. One room has polished chrome…
a transmission sitting on the dryer…
a motor dripping oil on the floor…
handlebars in another corner…
tires polished up…
and tail pipes, along with freshly painted tins sitting on a bed. Behind the bed is the already wrapped, also freshly painted frame. All these pieces are calling for me to put back together.
The artwork is wonderful. Here is a closeup of Phil riding into the sunset.
This all has to be re-assembled, to then be able to fire up and be ridden. Phil left me quite a puzzle!
But I have a book. After all this is Librarytomes. I talk about books in my life. I have the “Chilton’s guide” for motorcycles, especially his ’93 Softail.
Phil passed before he was able to see this bike put back together. But he did see the new paint job, along with the artwork. He could picture in his mind what the final product would look like. I believe he also knew that I would struggle to get this puzzle put back together-even with my mechanically savvy son.
Phil had a nickname of “mouse”. Over fifty years ago, he had a tattoo of Mighty Mouse flipping the bird, put on his arm.
Phil had that cartoon tattoo painted onto the front fender of his bike. It is constantly staring at me, waiting, as the last piece of this puzzle to be put back on the motorcycle.
Phil is giving me the literal finger, as a practical joke…the last one. He won. I miss him dearly.
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