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Kentuck Knob

Friday, July 11, 2025

7/11/25

Last week's trip to Pittsburgh and the ensuing days upon my return have been among the most traumatic of my life, for reasons that I will not publicly ever go into. I think losing my siblings, first Amie in 1983, then Buzz in 1917 and now John, has personally caused me the most pain I have ever felt in my life. 

I once read a psychotherapist who said that your relationships with your siblings were even more powerful than those you have with your parents, might be something to that. You spend more time with them when you are young, surely.

I cried for my lost brother every day last week, could not help it and sleeping and keeping my mind focused was difficult.

I actually sought grief counseling this week and the experience was helpful to me. After two unanswered calls to Jewish Family Services, I sought the help of a woman I know who had a long career as a psychiatric nurse. She helped me to not only deal with my own grief and trauma but to better understand my late brother's particular malaise. I really appreciated her help and plan on returning for more help one day.


Pittsburgh was hot and muggy.


I was awoken every day to a red dawn which somehow was fitting.

My task was to send remembrances of my brother's life back to his ex wife and four children.

There was more stuff in the apartment then I could send so I found myself curating his life and editing it down to six large boxes; his boxing gloves, his best nikes, his diaries, his lovely collection of musical instruments.

I felt strangely at peace and comfortable in his apartment and spectral presence, considering. 

He was a scientist and mechanical engineer with patents, a fuel cell wizard. His bins and instruments were well organized, soldering irons and test equipment, microscopes and every conceivable tool one could imagine. Journals held scientific computations and calculations that I could not remotely begin to understand.

Although he would cocoon himself when he was in the depressive part of his emotional dyad, he seemed quite comfortable in his own space, the apartment was clean and the walls full of bright paintings and posters. 

I couldn't help notice the absence of a television, good for him.

I went through his book shelves repeatedly. He could program in any language known to man but it was evident that he also was taking time to learn other languages. He had taught himself Tagalog, Farsi and Spanish and wrote each in the most beautiful hand.

I have no idea how many other languages he had attempted to master but it was very impressive, especially looking at the lovely arabic looking scribe of the Farsi. Once again I was taken aback by my brother's genius.

On the third day I could take it no longer. I shut the door at noon and told my brother goodby and locked the door. I had done all I could do.

I got in the rent a car and drove south almost two hours, towards West Virginia.  

I tried to go to Falling Water but all the passes were sold out and went to another Frank Lloyd home instead, the nearby Kentuck Knob house built for the Hagen family between 1954 and 1956 and now owned by english Lord Palumbo.

It was forbidden to take pictures in the home but it was furnished with wonderful native American ollas, both zuni, acoma and zia as well as great baskets and Natzler pottery. 

Lord Palumbo has a great eye, right down my wheel house.

I walked around the forest near the home and caught my first real breath in days.

I was glad to have made the trip.

It was the usual upon my return. 

Some people were there for me in my sorrow, a few were noticeably absent.

Some just don't do tragedy well, I get it. Not easy and it is a lot to ask of somebody.

Thanks to those of you who stepped up.


Life goes on, as always...

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