Nanook of the Midwest

From Tina:

Gingimo. That was my nickname for Joe. There were other nicknames Joe had through the years, some of which may or may not have been more immediately decipherable (consider: Joey & Ginger versus Tablespoon & Paprika). But Gingimo was a nickname that was mine and mine alone. It came from a trip to Chicago back in the winter/spring of 2008 to visit Anna & Scott. The weather in Chicago was, not surprisingly, bitterly cold in comparison to DC. Joe was not a fan of extreme temperatures in either direction but cold seemed to have a singular way of bringing out his droll grumpiness. At one point during the visit Joe was exercising his flaneur tendencies, strolling through Chicago clad only in a DC-level winter coat and a thin knit cap he purchased from a kiosk after his arrival. At some point he typed out a text message to me stating simply "I feel like a giant @#$% ginger eskimo." In between giggle fits at the mental image of Joe dressed as a forlorn Eskimo on the shores of Lake Michigan, I immediately shortened this to "Gingimo" and began addressing him as such. I don't know whether Joe ever took to the nickname quite as much as I did, but it always captured in my mind an image of him, with his distinctive gait, weight shifted on one side, pausing briefly after a particularly biting gust off the lake, looking around and muttering with a twinkle in his eye and a half grin on his face. And that's when he pulled out his phone and typed a message with his signature dry wit to bring me into the moment with him, even from 600 miles away. Now it's my turn to continue sharing moments both mundane and extraordinary with him (even if the discussion is a bit one-sided) along with his friends and family.

Gingimo was an explorer in the same tradition of books, unknown foods, and meanderings of which I myself am an ardent subscriber. While our tastes and inclinations were far from identical, the overlap could not be denied. Nor could our mutual zest for experiencing new things, even those that scared us. I have always challenged myself to do those things that frighten me, hoping to discover a strength I did not previously see. Committing to a relationship with Joe was one such challenge; from the beginning our easily interlocking characters scared the daylights out of me. I think, perhaps, it also scared Joe at times. Or maybe that was just my bedhead. I will have to ask him that.

My bedhead, however scary it may have been at times (particularly after a bourbon-infused outing the night before), is not what springs to mind when I think of Joe's willingness to tackle things that scared him. The first memory revolves around my birthday last year, which landed just two weeks before Gingimo's passing. In a decision, which likely caused my parents some consternation, I decided to usher in my third decade by jumping out of a plane at 13,000 feet with a strange man strapped to my back. As my father noted he at least had been paid for such antics while I, inexplicably, was choosing to pay someone else for this experience. Joe took it upon himself to plan the logistics for the day, researching companies, coordinating timing with day's later festivities, etc. I was only responsible for showing up. I had tried to convince my brother to join me in the celebratory leap, but he wasn't able to fit it into his schedule. So what did Gingimo do? He made a reservation for two -- because he thought I should have in-air support for this venture, despite him clearly being disinclined towards such activities. Luckily for him, my brother was able to join at last minute. This allowed Joe to provide support from a picnic table on the ground with a book safely in hand. But knowing he was willing to jump out of a plane despite my assurances I was happy to go it alone...well some things say love and commitment without a word.

The second memory, which scared the bejesus out of me in its own way, occurred several months earlier after an evening of drinking with the UVA crew. I believe it was shortly after little Lizzie McCreesh had been born. Gingimo & I were lying in bed, discussing topics in a slightly disjointed manner as two inebriated people are apt to do. At some point our discussion turned to discussing Lizzie's general adorableness and the joy which parenthood seemed to have imparted on Patrick & Courtney. We were quiet for a while, staring at the ceiling and me quickly nearing slumber when Joe said quietly "We're going to have kids together, aren't we?" His tone was one of bewilderment and realization and also, a request for assurance. As was our tendency, we had never previously discussed such serious relationship questions directly. But I had known for a while that our future would involve redheaded bookworms with glasses and a tendency towards scifi and karaoke. I turned to Joe in the dark and, putting my hand on his chest, said simply "I hope so." Despite the dark, I could see Joe smiling his biggest full Okie smile. As usual, I had no doubt in my mind at that moment that ours would be a long, happy life together.

I am, not surprisingly, a different person than a year ago. My life has gone from being happily sketched out to being obscured by a fog covering much beyond the current moment. In some ways, this scares me more than anything. Except for one item. I will always have my Gingimo, my guardian angel through all of the adventures & surprises life has in store.