I have posted this picture to this blog in the past. At that time it was posted as a lead-in to a telling of just one of many stories of adventures and good times shared with my friends, Glenn and Cheryl.

Still a favorite picture of the two of them, it is now posted in memorial and with deep sadness.

Glenn Allen passed away earlier this week - suddenly with no warning and with no time or opportunity to say the goodbyes that wanted to be said. These few imperfect and inadequate words will just have to serve instead.

As it happened, G & C and I had connected for a Facetime chat just the previous evening - on Sunday. And, like so many previous, our discussion of people, places, weather soon evolved to ongoing discussions of our respective boats - their Cape Dory 31, Evergreen, and my own Pacific Seacraft, Kelly Rae.

It wasn't as if we didn't have plenty of other common interests - hiking, climbing, kayaking, skiing, the mountains, the ocean - hell, we could have and did talk about the many parts of the world that we had each explored. But boats were the common denominator. Evergreen's current crop of problems and areas of concern, her current list of improvement projects and an endless discussion of exterior brightwork could and did fill hours of talk time - KR's similarly extensive list all of the remaining ones.

I always especially valued Glenn's insights in boat matters. He was a real engineer - having spent a career blowing up gas turbine engines for General Electric - while I was just a lowly sales engineer.

As I have thought of Glenn in the days since I learned of his death, I remembered all of the many things that were, to me, so special about him. The list is long and, enumerated, would paint a picture of a uniquely wonderful person and a dear, dear friend. However, I realized that two things alone will, now that they are lost, leave a gaping hole in my life.

I met Glenn and Cheryl during my second cruise on KR when, while anchored in Round Pond harbor, a Boston Whaler approached and hailed. Cheryl and her friend, Ellen, had seen KR's Grand Lake, Colorado hailing port and, once Cee Cee the Sailor Dog finally stopped barking, Cheryl let me know that they had a home in Granby, Colorado where they spent their winters - an amazing coincidence!

One thing quickly led to another and either that night or the next (I don't remember which) I was invited to dinner. Soon after meeting Glenn, I realized that these were very special people. Wonderful individually, they were that rare couple who together add up to much more than the sum of the parts. They so obviously completed each other's lives that I was immediately awed - and envious.

As we spent time together, first in Maine that summer and then in Colorado that winter, in future joint sailing adventures and in the camaraderie of the boatyard readying our respective ladies for storing or launching, they welcomed me into their lives. I had the privilege to share vicariously so much of what they had together.

Now, Cheryl and I are very good friends and always will be. And, we will have many wonderful times together in the future. There will, however, always be a hole - something irreplaceably lost - which will always be felt. Cheryl will feel the brunt of this loss, of course. However, I will mourn for its passing as deeply as I mourn the passing of the individual.

The other great loss is simply this.

In the book "Cruising Rules", a book with a Round Pond connection that G & C first shared with me and which has long since become a part of KR's permanent library, Rule #3 reads as follows:

"A statement, joke, or story offered with the intent of humor shall be responded to with audible, visible, persistent, and above all, authentic laughter."

We talked and joked about this and the other "Cruising Rules" often and yet, as I can attest, this is not one which was ever necessary to say to Glenn. He approached life ready, willing and able to laugh and laugh often - and he had a GREAT laugh. The smile lit, the head flew up and the laugh exploded from him. It was loud and generous - never restrained or merely polite, even when a real groaner of a joke was inflicted upon him.

I was addicted to Glenn's laugh.

Like any addict, I would, at times, develop an almost physical need for a fix. Thankfully, with modern technology, Facetime video chats and the like, a fix was only a decent wifi connection away. In our conversations, I would shamelessly set up one-liners, fishing for my reward and always getting it - even, perhaps especially, when even I knew that the line wasn't really that funny.

Is this unimportant in the larger scheme of things? I don't think so. I just know that I will particularly miss it.

But then I, as well as Glenn's many other friends, will miss so much.

RIP