Last night I was out at my favorite time of day, just after it turned completely dark. I looked up at the stars far above, stars that have been looked upon by many generations gone before, stars that will be here long after I'm gone. What's it like up there, I wondered?

My eyes often turn upward after my evening chores and I think of such things. It is quiet, just me and the crickets, and I think about life and the beyond. Last night, I thought about Chuck.

It is my great sadness to write that Chuck of Chuck's Chatter went to heaven this past Saturday after a brief illness. I met Chuck several years ago when he and I became partners in running the Church thrift shop. Chuck would relieve me of running the register and I'd relieve him of folding clothes, a satisfactory arrangement for us both. His wit and updates on his family brought him into my extended family.

William asked, "Who will count the money at the shop now? Chuck and I used to count the money together." I reminded him that it was okay to be sad, but to also be happy that we had the opportunity to know him.

Chuck was also known around town as Constable Chuck, as he ran unopposed as a write-in candidate in last November's election. He made it his project to ticket motorists parking illegally in handicapped parking spots about town. Every time I look at handicapped spots, I will think of him and look for their handicap permits. (Not that I plan to take his place in these duties.)

The thrift store will not be the same for me, as I really continued my work there longer than I probably should so that I could hear stories about his wife, their two sons and grandchildren, about wintering at the Mets baseball training camp, about Lorain, his 80-something baseball training camp friend, and his favorite spots to eat.

Rest well, my friend.