I was going to edit the blog to include a bunch of names I left out — Brian, his Shadow and Samuel, for example — but I just learned Mike Finley has died.

Oh, how I loved to hear him cackle when he dragged one of our penny poker pots.

He’d wave the stem of his pipe at you before you could say Jack Robinson.

There is a place of serenity where he grew bamboo, his love and livelihood.

Sweet Linda, his wife.

His devotion to Steve and Pat Brainard in Guthrie and the folk music that he carried in his heart.

He’s at Smith & Kernke on 23rd and will be cremated. That’s all I know for right now and I don’t feel much like writing any more.