My favorite curmudgeon.

This weekend will mark the celebration of life for one of my favorite curmudgeons, Tommy Covington.  Tommy was always an old curmudgeon, from the first day I met, him back in the 1990s. Being a curmudgeon, he always tended towards the cranky side. Oh there were a few days when you would catch him just right, and he would actually be in good mood. 

You were never safe around Tommy, if you did, said, or acted in some way Tom disapproved,  he had the ability to ratchet up the cranky to olympic levels. However, if you kept supplying him with some sort of asshattery, he could dial cranky into full blown pissed off in the blink of an eye. If you've ever been on the receiving end of Tommy when he was good and pissed, you would know it immediately and it would stay with you for while. 

I was never in Tom's direct crosshairs. I think mainly because I always paid special care to stay out of his firing line. I enjoyed spending time with the Marks, (Meyers and Burns) sitting around the wood stove at Tommy shop in the fall and winter. We would all have drink in our hand, telling stories, and I could smoke cigars while Tommy would smoke cigarettes. You had to start early to catch Tommy. Somewhere around 4:30 or 5:00, he would just disappear and slip back to his house. Covington is an English name, but Tommy had the Irish Goodbye nailed down.  

Having moved to Yolo County in the 80s, I did not know young Tommy. I only knew middle-aged Tommy. Who looked quite a bit like crank old-man Tommy if I remember right. Tommy is kinda like Willie Nelson, he's looked 80 for the last 30 years. Then again, getting dropped off your first day in Viet Nam to go out on patrol in the jungle for a few weeks would give you that look. 

Now for those of you who only knew him briefly, or just as the old guy who yelled at you if you drove past his house at any speed that approached double digits, let me tell you about another side. 

Tom was a softie, wrapped up in husk of bad language, and surrounded by cigarette smoke and a glass of whiskey. The Wednesday afternoon horseshoe games at Tommy's place were another of my favorite times up the valley. Sometimes, when it was just Mark and I waiting for the guys to get out there after work, we would just sit at the picnic table under the tree and talk. Every once in a while he would let out that softer side, and it was so different from his usual state. It was kind of cute. 

Because I'm a man, and we never miss the chance to give your friends some grief,  I would tell him I thought he was going soft. He would then tell me to go have sex with myself. 

I am really going to miss that guy.