Fred’s light didn’t go out when he died: He just passed the torch to family and friends, forever brightening our lives.

Tacoma, Wash. — World War II veteran and dedicated family man Fred Kercher (born January 30, 1913) of Spanaway, joined the love of his life, wife Betty, on January 8, at age 98.

Friends and family remember Fred for his twinkling blue eyes, outgoing nature, a wonderful sense of humor and a life filled with intriguing stories.

The son of a farmer, as a child he befriended a pig he called “Dog,” and even rode him from time to time. After years of working fields with horses, he bought trucks and maintained a living during the Depression hauling sugar beets, sheep, coal and whatnot in Colorado and Idaho, helping to support his family. Mechanically gifted, he loved tinkering with his own 1924 Model-T Ford, and learned to professionally repair virtually any vehicle, including military tanks.

Fred proudly volunteered to join the U.S. Army. He served, returned home … then war broke out. After Pearl Harbor, Fred served in Australia, New Guinea and the Philippines. He was on the beach when General Douglas MacArthur arrived to fight the Imperial Japanese Army in the Philippines.

Fred earned the American Defense Service Medal, Philippine Liberation Medal, Asiatic Pacific Campaign Service Medal, a Good Conduct Medal and a Bronze Service Star.

After the war, in 1946, he married his long-time love, Betty L. Farris (1923-1997).

Both he and Betty worked at the Ft. Lewis laundry, where he became a washermen supervisor. He retired from civil service in 1972, becoming a stay-at-home Dad for his youngest.

Fred is survived by son Darryl Kercher, of Spanaway; daughters Dineice Piper of Kelso and DeAnna Coombs of Jensen, UT; brothers Gene Kercher, of Auburn, and Robert Kercher, Tacoma. Surviving grandchildren include: Joanna Delmar of Battleground, Charles Piper of Kelso, Jean McCarroll of Longview, and Jennifer Kercher of Spanaway. Ten great-grandchildren and two great-great grandchildren also carry on his legacy.

Fred is preceded in death by brother Elmer Kercher of Minnesota, and sisters Helen Ruvo, Joann Mizner, and Verna Ruvo of Tacoma, and Althea Walling of Colorado.

The family thanks Dr. Waltman and the staff at Heartwood for their ongoing warmth and care.

Visitation: Friday, January 13, at Mountain View Funeral Home, Lakewood, WA. The Saturday, January 14, service: 1:00pm at Mountain View Celebration of Life Center, 4100 Steilacoom Blvd SW, Tacoma.

For more, in his own words, visit YouTube:  Fred Kercher – A Day in the Life of a 97-year-old.mp4 .  

My lack of swimming ability has been a lifelong embarrassment. Until this year, I’d only admit to being a lousy swimmer if my lack of ability could impact 1) suggested plans, 2) the safety of others, or 3) my own safety.

Who likes to admit to fear? Weakness? Failure?

But now that I’m motivated to learn, dedicated to improve, I’m jazzed to share my progress.

I’ll admit that during the 30 laps today I stopped at the end of each of the lengths. Still, I kept on improving and going on. It eventually felt routine. I never got scared.  My breathing even felt normal.

But then, I was swimming in the leisure pool at the Federal Way Community Center: It has no deep end.

I still have to gain enough nerve to breaststroke my first length and lap in the longer, deeper (scarier) competition pool.

In the competition pool earlier this year I learned to backstroke. Then I learned to backstroke laps. Worked my way up to a mile at a time, swimming on my back. It felt easy, since I didn’t have to learn how to breathe. It felt easy, since I didn’t have to actually look down below me and see how the water gets deeper, and deeper.

As my Facebook friends know, so far this year I backstroked 50+ miles. I even backstroked two miles recently, just to prove to myself that I could.

About time I learn to swim the breaststroke, too.

My fiancé loves boating. So do his friends in San Francisco and Seattle. So, I finally have the motivation to learn to swim.

I’m also loving my new muscle definition, calorie burn and endorphin highs.

It can be so much fun, and invigorating, to learn and make progress. Don’t cha think?

Many drivers need such reminders.

Stop ... and look right for pedestrians, please.

Observe for yourself as you are out and about driving and walking. You may be surprised how many drivers look left for traffic, when slowing down, but are too rushed to stop. And even if they do stop, many are still too rushed to look right for pedestrians who have the right of way.

After a near tragedy in our family a few years ago, I really started noticing.

Returning from a Goodwill outing, Phil was pushing Mom in a wheelchair, with me and my niece Jennifer walking behind. At the corner crosswalk, Phil planned to ease the wheelchair backwards over the curb.

It was my pre-designated duty to say when it was safe to cross.

So, when the pedestrian light turned green, and the front car had stopped, I said out loud, “We can go now.” But the driver turning right, he kept on looking left for traffic, and never, ever, looked right for pedestrians, even after he stopped. And I had not taken the extra seconds to make sure I had eye contact with the driver.

So, at my instruction, all four (4!) of us started crossing as the driver started turning right on red. Phil bellowed, “Stop! x@$%&$! Stop! #$%&*!” and kicked hard off the bumper, pushing Mom out of the way, and somehow preventing his own legs from getting smashed.

We were all shaken, very upset … and blessedly not injured.

Since that scare, while out walking I’ve had a number of drivers cut in front of me when I had the right of way. They just didn’t take the extra seconds to make sure there was no pedestrian traffic to their right.

Now when I walk, I try not to assume drivers will do the right thing. Instead, I take an extra second or two make sure to catch the attention of the drivers before crossing in front of their cars, even when I have the right of way. Often, I  take off my sunglasses to help me make better eye contact. I even remove my iPod ear buds, to give crossing my full attention — which is a real pain, since I’m usually listening to a really good audio book by Stephen King or James Patterson.

I admit, these extra efforts can be irritating. But each time I curse when a driver turns, totally oblivious to me and other pedestrians, I am reminded that the extra effort and time is less painful than … the potential alternative.

To be honest: I have found myself being just as oblivious a driver.

Just this past month I started turning out of our drive, not noticing to my right a bicycle riding on the sidewalk. I had looked left for cars, but not right to the sidewalk. I slammed on my brakes in time to scare both of us.

“Stop Here on Red,” warns the new signs.

Perhaps the next sign should be, “Look Right Before Turning.”

And the last, “Bet You Wish You Had.”

© “Annsights” Blog, 2011

I didn’t bring it up at the time, but mentioned it hours later.

“Huh????”

Oh! He always kills off his old text history. But somehow, Verizon’s system decided to be creative, burping up and attaching to a March 9, 2011, text to me a chain of other random texts to me from July 23, Aug. 10, Aug. 15 and Sept. 10, 2010.

All texts he and I had deleted.

It wasn’t that the Sept. 10 text said anything bad. (It didn’t.) It just reminded me of a face-to-face discussion we had moved passed.

Wow. Even deleted texts may remain out there, somewhere, forever, and could eventually be inconveniently burped up.

We may never know that it even happened. (What if I hadn’t mentioned it to him?)

Another reason to be careful about what we put in writing.

© “Annsights” Blog, 2011

Mom read newspapers, mailed clips. Hersch emails links from the Web. Via Blackberry I skim Google News, The WSJ and NY Times and post links to FB.

My big brother Hersch sends me links to articles he finds on the Web that will interest me.  That’s a habit — a gift — he gleaned from Mom.

For decades, our mailmen (and yes, they were men) routinely delivered hand-addressed envelopes from Mom. Many included articles she meticulously hand clipped and dated.

These weren’t just any articles. She managed to find ones that related to our own history and personal interests, which would really mean something to us.

My newsprint announcements featured Jean’s wedding, Bill’s new client and Indy’s new stadium, and black-and-white news spreads of the attractions I helped open … being torn down or renovated years later.

Mom found for us news about places and people we were fond of, our cities, companies, favorite authors, hobbies … and health tips.

Every single day, Mom sipped hot instant Folgers from a mug and read The Indianapolis News (until it closed), then The Indianapolis Star and The Franklin Township Informer. She read at the kitchen table. On the couch. On the front step. At McDonald’s.

That’s just what Mom did. Every single day.

If any one of us were there, she’d read excerpts of various articles out loud.

In May 1997, Mom's clippings included an AP article linking cell phones to cancer ... and "Love, Mom."

And when we were no longer there — living in Chicago, Madison, Rantoul, Kenosha and Tacoma — she’d still share the articles with us.

At times, she’d even make copies at the Wanamaker branch library, and ship similar packages to each of us, so we’d each be equally informed.

Early on, she wrote in script on stationary her news of the day — “Walked 4 miles” — and included the letter with the clips. Eventually she just included yellow Post-It notes scrawled with “Love, Mom.”

With or without a letter, each envelope was filled with thoughts. With love.

Today, my brother’s links are just as meaningful. I can’t be with him as he browses the Web, but the 1800 miles are bridged by his constant reminders that he clearly is thinking of me — and understands my interests.

On FaceBook, I too post articles, in hopes they may resonate with a friend or sibling. Like my brother, I am my Mother’s child. However, I’m typically reading Google News, The Wall Street Journal, New York Times, Technorati … on my Blackberry, before my cup of Joe (straight black).

Are things really that different?

BTW Hersch: For all the articles you send to me, “Sincerely, thank you.” I haven’t said that enough.

© “Annsights” Blog, 2011

His grandmother’s ring is not on my finger. It seems that settings wear with age and my vintage 1960′s engagement ring is a perfect example: the prongs around the main diamond, and the prongs on either end need to be retipped in white gold. So glad my fiancé’s mom advised we get the ring checked.

Various jeweler Web sites suggest that prongs on new rings be evaluated every six months, and older rings get checked more frequently, especially if rings are worn all the time or are exposed to frequent friction.

Jewelers typically do not charge for such checkups.

Until I became engaged last week, I never realized the need to periodically inspect for stability of stone settings. Prongs naturally wear down over time? I certainly never would have guessed how frequently rings should be checked.

Did you know this?

Yesterday, I called my sister. She said the settings on her ring have never been checked, ever. I advised she do it sooner, rather than later.

This past week, I’ve been to two jewelers. The first one said, “Too many customers come in this door full of regret because they just lost a stone.” He was glad I was coming in sooner, versus later. So am I!

Both jewelers advised the same “retipping” repair work, and the first one agreed with my gut feeling that I should have the ring appraised before leaving it anywhere. (The same advice I read on the Web.)

Last Thursday I made a Tuesday appointment to have the ring appraised for insurance purposes. On Tuesday, the jeweler inspected the ring while I waited. On Friday, when I pick up the appraisal I will check to see if the jeweler listed any “inclusions” (unique identifying marks in the diamond) that could identify the main stone. Only then will l leave the ring behind to have the center and end prongs be retipped in white gold for 75 bucks.

While all this kind of feels like paranoia or overkill to me (and probably to you too), I’d certainly rather be careful now, versus regretful later. (Hey, I continue to try to live my life with as few regrets as possible.)

I’d be heartbroken to look down and discover a missing stone.

When I mentioned to the jeweler that I swim a lot, he suggested that I not wear the ring in a hot tub, and especially not frequently: hot tub chlorine chemicals are stronger than those in a swimming pool, and seriously eat at the metal alloys that help make the gold strong enough to wear. Such chemicals can yellow the alloys in white-gold rings, and discolor yellow-gold rings as well.

I’m not planning on wearing this cherished ring while lifting weights, swimming, or relaxing in a hot tub.

Meanwhile, my fiancé and I are discussing a sturdy wedding-ring style that I can wear all the time. And, I’m reminding all my friends to please drop by a jewelry store from time to time, for a quick, free ring cleaning and inspection.

© “Annsights” Blog, 2011

What more can I ask for? My Fred at 97.9 years old!

Good promising health for my family and friends is all I really want this holiday.

Thank you all for that gift.

May it continue … and continue.

Today I ended up making a Christmas wreath from a few of the storm remnants I found along the sidewalk.

Wasn’t in my plans at all. But the storm scattered evergreen limbs across the yards and streets in my Western Washington town. Sprigs of fresh green pine needles were everywhere! What a waste of fresh greenery, especially at this time of year.

Seeking a Christmas wreath that I both liked and thought worth the price, last week I trudged from store to store. No luck.

While I never before thought about making my own wreath, the lovely storm debris spoke to me. I had to listen. I had to save some.

Typically I’d scan oodles of Googles for “how to” tips on wreath making. Today I thought, “Why research? It will be fun to figure out on my own. Should be simple.”

It was. And it only cost me $10. With planning and leftovers from today’s project, I can easily cut that price in half next time.

While I dropped by Michael’s only for a spool of green florist wire ($1.49), on the nearby peg I discovered a metal wreath frame ($2.99, regular price).

My mind started whirring, “They make a frame for wreaths? Duh…of course they do. And it only costs three bucks?”

Sold!

Instead of my idea of wiring sprigs of pine together, I wove and stuck sprigs around the frame. While I didn’t use the florist wire for the greenery, it was handy for attaching the bargain decorations I found at 60 to 70% off, including red-glittered flowers and the ribbon.

It did take me a few tries to tie a real pretty bow. I ended up using triple layers of the red-and-gold wired ribbon ($2.39 at 60% off).

I meant to have a bow with long tails hanging from the wreath top. But, when I switched form a 1-layer to 3-layer bow, I ran low on ribbon. I do like the short bow at the bottom of the handmade-by-Ann wreath hanging on my front door. I like the wreath too.

So, from this year forth, as the Pacific Northwest wind storms roll in right before the holidays, I’m going to recycle more storm debris and make more wreaths for me, my local family and friends.

Next time, in advance I will Google instructions to help make improved, thicker wreaths.

Meanwhile, I am so glad I didn’t do my normal research and planning this time. The creative I-did-it-all-by-myself discovery process was rewarding. Self satisfying. Refreshing.

A nice way to launch Christmas week.

© “Annsights” Blog, 2010.

Was it bait and switch?

Having worked in e-commerce and retail for years, I try to give companies the benefit of the doubt and not jump to that conclusion. After all, it was a well-respected travel discount site (one I shall not name, just in case I someday end up with them as a client). The price was promoted by their preferred car vendor, which is also a big brand name.

Perhaps the price changed while I was making my reservation. While it was 9:30 p.m. Pacific time, it was after midnight Eastern time, and I periodically find etailers that cut their deals off at midnight Eastern.

So I went through the reservation process again (and again), and the same low car rental price of $18 per day for $110.24 total, including taxes, came up for the four days in Indy. Each time I went to make the reservation, after filling in all the blanks, the total price increased by $28.51, for a total of $138.75.  (That’s a $23.86-per-day rate.)

So I searched and searched online. Everywhere the lowest care rental rate was at least $23.86/day over this particular weekend at Indianapolis International Airport.

I even tried logging in from different browsers, and then from another computer. I signed up for several frequent rental programs. I signed into various travel discount sites. I input various discount codes. Nowhere could I find anything as low as the advertised $110, including taxes and fees.

Once I had been teased by that rate, I really wanted it. Not just to save money (which is very important at this time), but also because of the principle.

Finally, after doing some mathematical computations, I went to Priceline.com and made an offer of $16 per day for four days, which would come to $108.83, including taxes and all the extra fees. My offer was accepted by Avis Rent a Car, and I prepaid the non-refundable fee.

Since I’m traveling stand by, I really didn’t want to pre-pay for car rental, just in case I can’t catch the flights from Seattle to Indianapolis that I hope to. On stand by, I may end up arriving a day or so later.

With Priceline I negotiated a deal for four days that cost about the same as a three-day rental everywhere else. The deal is perfect for this trip to my family reunion.

But, I’m still disappointed: I really do consider that bait and switch. What a shame. I’ve always trusted that travel vendor.

Usually I would write such a respected company with my concern. But I spent so much time and energy tracking down an equivalent deal, that I won’t this time.

On the brighter side: I just bookmarked www.Priceline.com and plan to name my own pre-paid price in the future.

According to Priceline, my $108.83 deal was 44 percent cheaper ($86.85) than Avis’ lowest published price at that time, which was $195.68. It was $29.92 cheaper than the lowest legitimate total cost I could find anywhere else.

If only Priceline would give me a chance to negotiate the price of my gasoline for this trip.

© “Annsights” Blog, 2010.

You just have to hear this story.

After Fred’s release from the hospital, the ambulance guys settled Fred into his new bed. Donna’s sitting in the one corner chair, filling out more legal and medical forms for her father-in-law. Darryl is talking to his Dad, Fred. I’m hanging up Fred’s clothes in the closet, while checking which ones still need his name labels ironed on.

In rolls in this guy in a wheel chair: Fred’s room mate.

Someone introduces Fred. The guy repeats the name, then says, “I have an uncle with that name.”

I quickly turn around. He’s got my attention, at least.

After a few moments he says, “My uncle’s wife was Betty.”

I say, “Fred’s wife was named Betty.”

“I’m Bruce. Bucky…..”

Bruce is Fred’s nephew, born in 1939. Bruce has no other family except for Uncle Fred and Fred’s family.  Uncle and nephew lost contact years ago. The last time they saw each other may have been 1963. (No one remembers.)

At age 71, Bucky never expected to see his family again, let alone room with his own uncle.

So Bucky and his baby cousin Darryl (age 48) immediately started catching up on a lifetime of missed family history. (The cousins may have met in 1963 when Darryl was two years old.) I periodically explained to Fred what was going on, since he can usually only follow one person talking one-on-one to him, in his right ear (his only good ear).

And every few moments Bruce paused, saying, “I’m still in shock. You’re my family. I’m with family….”

Can you believe this?

Bruce had only three more days left at the nursing home following nearly 90 days of rehabilitation after surgery, related to childhood polio. He’s moving back home.

Thank goodness Fred arrived when he did.

Some things are just meant to be.

© “Annsights” Blog, 2010.