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Rest in Peace BiB

aussiew

By aussiew
in Off the Wall Archives

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justnzane Veteran

justnzane

Posted
Posted

+1. It is a different place here w/o you BiB. I remember when I first started lurking here, I remember BiB as one of the better more enjoyable posters here. In turn, I started posting because of posters like him.

 

Edit: Aussie, you don't post enough anymore either <_<:lol:

bills_fan Veteran

bills_fan

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Hey BiB...enjoying a Laphroaig 27 year old tonight....I know you'd approve, this stuff is good.

 

To you and finding peace.

 

RIP.

Lori All Pro

Lori

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What y'all said. Miss you, Paul, but I know you missed Darlene more.

 

From the original thread; I don't imagine kegger will mind ...

God Bless, Paul. You'll be missed by many.

 

 

Paul once sent this to me.....I think it's only fitting that I now send this back to Paul.

 

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth

And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;

Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth

Of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things

You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung

High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,

I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung

My eager craft through footless halls of air. . . .

 

Up, up the long, delirious burning blue

I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace

Where never lark, or ever eagle flew —

And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod

The high untrespassed sanctity of space,

Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

 

— John Gillespie Magee, Jr

ajzepp Hall of Famer

ajzepp

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RIP Paul....miss you, bro

millbank Veteran

millbank

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow - The Village Blacksmith

 

Under a spreading chestnut-tree

The village smithy stands;

The smith, a mighty man is he,

With large and sinewy hands;

And the muscles of his brawny arms

Are strong as iron bands.

 

His hair is crisp, and black, and long,

His face is like the tan;

His brow is wet with honest sweat,

He earns whate'er he can,

And looks the whole world in the face,

For he owes not any man.

 

Week in, week out, from morn till night,

You can hear his bellows blow;

You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,

With measured beat and slow,

Like a sexton ringing the village bell,

When the evening sun is low.

 

And children coming home from school

Look in at the open door;

They love to see the flaming forge,

And hear the bellows roar,

And catch the burning sparks that fly

Like chaff from a threshing-floor.

 

He goes on Sunday to the church,

And sits among his boys;

He hears the parson pray and preach,

He hears his daughter's voice,

Singing in the village choir,

And it makes his heart rejoice.

 

It sounds to him like her mother's voice,

Singing in Paradise!

He needs must think of her once more,

How in the grave she lies;

And with his haul, rough hand he wipes

A tear out of his eyes.

 

Toiling,--rejoicing,--sorrowing,

Onward through life he goes;

Each morning sees some task begin,

Each evening sees it close

Something attempted, something done,

Has earned a night's repose.

 

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,

For the lesson thou hast taught!

Thus at the flaming forge of life

Our fortunes must be wrought;

Thus on its sounding anvil shaped

Each burning deed and thought.

 

- thankful of the wise council and friendship , a most beautiful , most precious gift.

kegtapr Veteran

kegtapr

Posted
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What y'all said. Miss you, Paul, but I know you missed Darlene more.

 

From the original thread; I don't imagine kegger will mind ...

 

Quoted for approval

 

Hey Paul.... <_<

Chef Jim Hall of Famer

Chef Jim

Posted
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As I mentioned in the thread announcing his death he was the best friend I never met. I know you're cooking and dancing in the kitchen every night now Paul.

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