Morrie Aves, Example to Many, Father to Few, Husband to One
“Die when I may, I want it said of me by those who knew me best, that I always plucked a thistle and planted a flower where I thought a flower would grow.” - Abraham Lincoln
I can remember it like yesterday, waking up on my under-inflated air mattress, with a strange electric energy I hardly recognized. The heavy fog of Covid had long settled on my shoulders and yet, there was a hunger in me to overcome the dread and despondency.
I was a fresh arrival to the tiny town of Del Norte. I was ready to contribute to a brand new place and spin something beautiful.
I couldn't ignore my affection for second hand clothes and lo and behold, a turn key store appeared on my screen. A liquidation of all the fixings to build a clothing store. I bolted up and into the living room and dialed the number. It was the dead of January and snow covered the ground outside as I paced and listened to the phone ring.
Laurie's unmistakable voice was soon on the other end. After some quick chat, I committed to making the long and sudden trip. There was an energy about her that said, if you want access to me, you must do what you say you are going to do. And it bred my trust, and my intrigue. I piled on a few other errands and set off, along the narrow canyons and broad vistas of the Arkansas River canyon towards the antique capital of Colorado.
I remember sending a message before I arrived asking if she had time for a drink after loading everything into my truck. I was fresh off the boat from Florida, getting to know Colorado as a brand new resident and budding business owner. I wanted to pick her brain and learn more about business in this sweet little town of Florence.
We got through business quickly, being consummate buyers, sellers, and negotiators. They appreciated my boldness and hunger, I appreciated their candor and expertise. Cash exchanged, hands shaken, I asked about dinner and they volunteered the steak joint across the street. I ordered a martini and they offered their guest room.
I pulled into town not knowing what I was in for, ambling towards a sorta kinda vision of what might maybe work in my little cow town. An idea that engendered fear, doubt, and skepticism in my partner, friends, and neighbors, but was curiously supported by these strangers. Not only supported, but buoyed, imbibed with realism and legitimacy, coupled with granular attention to detail, and a deep fundamental belief in my potential to be successful. I can think of few greater blessings.
I remember texting friends that I was staying the night, and the knowing scoffs, head shakes, and echoes of "course you are" reflected my privilege to have walked into many lives that held out their arms and clean sheets to embrace me. Laurie and Morrie were my new friends, and there was no way of knowing how this story would take shape and add to my life.
Within minutes we were breaking bread, within hours I was in their living room in their pajamas, within days I was their new friend, and within weeks I was a regular visitor. Within months they were at my grand opening, genuinely impressed with what I had made with a little money and a lot of gumption.
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I raved to anyone who would listen about the antique capital of Colorado and the intrepid couple I knew there.
The morning after my first visit to Florence, I woke early enough to join Morrie for coffee and conversation. We picked up from the previous night, nursing headaches from old wine and single malt scotch. With the buzzing of financial news in the background.
The topic drifted to his obsession with auctions, and his penchant for cleaning out liquor stores. I gained entre to a basement compound full of the spoils of his auction exploits. A few hours and exclamations later, Laurie found us hunched over crates of booze and mumbling furiously about rare vintages and cradling wine older than me. I had a crazy eyed glow and Morrie did, too.
She rolled her eyes and beckoned us to the breakfast table. Smelling like stale booze and sweat and covered in dust and still wearing their pajamas, I bellied up for the first of many decadent breakfasts in their home above their store. It was kind of like dear friends, but kind of like parents, but just the basic connection of like-minded, likewise-employed, and likewise-entertained human beings that crossed paths by chance. I can think of few greater blessings.
The Aves are an institution from where I sit. They are the kind of citizens that local governments and fellow citizens should celebrate, and likewise fear. They pay their taxes, improve buildings, and give the town a glimmer where there might only be tired bricks and tumbleweeds. They threaten the status quo and they protect it, too. They, like many of their friends, pluck thistle and plant flowers, always with an eye to a better future.
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I am sure I sound like a broken record in concert with everyone else who knew him, but Morrie was like a father to me. Every time I visited their home, I made a point to wake up early and sit with him. His presence made me feel safe and comfortable. He was always generous with advice, direction, and time-tested focus. After a storied career in corporate America and two decades in real estate and antiques, it was a dream to have his ear.
After all, I had stumbled into this whole business just as they had. How lucky to be able to learn from my predecessors. How blessed to enjoy the people with whom you share a planet and passion and industry.
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It is true joy to be able to finally give a little back to the people who have given you so much. I was proud and privileged to be able to welcome Laurie and Morrie to my General Store after so many months of telling them about it. I could finally pour wine in THEIR glass. I could finally place food on THEIR plate. I could finally share my home and my work and my friends and my town and my life with these wonderful humans.
And, humbly, I think I managed to impress them. And of course they managed to help me more than I did them. They helped me set up for various celebrations, secure carpets to the floor, sell things of which I didn't know the value, and clean up horrid messes. They applauded me and hugged me and smiled at my success. I can think of few greater blessings.
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When the voice on the other line told me Morrie was gone, it felt like the earth tilted off it's axis. It just couldn't be. All I could muster was the word, "No".
No No No No No. Complete and total denial. The shock choked me.
It just couldn't be. Morrie isn't the type of person that we can afford to have plucked from his purpose.
I hung up and called Laurie. I called everyone. Then I googled his name. The obituary read February 6th. His birthday. I checked my texts and saw our last communication was the morning of his accident, just a few hours before he drew his last breath.
I wished him a happy birthday and he responded that all was fine in Florence and asked how things were in Del Norte.
It took me a while and a lot of tears but I realized that Morrie wasn't plucked, he was planted and rooted.
He died fulfilling his purpose. Checking on friends, working on projects, creating beautiful spaces, being a husband, and celebrating a birthday. He was right where he wanted to be with the people he loved most.
But damn, I will miss him. And I know I am not the only one.
Rest in Peace, Morrie. And thank you for everything ❤️
