Our friend Torrie’s father passed away last week.

You probably know Torrie from her oddly-named blog (odd because I find her delightful and not hateful at all), I Pretty Much Hate Everything.

I wrote about running into her on the street a few summers ago. I chalked it up tothe excellent connective skills of the universe. She and her husband — a singer/songwriter and MD — have graced our doorstep a few times since, but not enough. They just had an adorable daughter, Willa. So when her father passed just a few months after her birth, all I could think was that it was the universe doing it’s thing again (Disney would call it “the circle of life”).

Her father’s New York Time’s obituary is remarkable. Phillip Masters was the best, most-inspirational kind of man: curious, self-educated, relentless, and benevolent. We should all be so lucky as to be remembered thusly:

With just one day left on the permits, and with Mr. Masters away on business, Mr. Daniel found what they believed to be Queen Anne¹s Revenge.

Both Mr. Masters and Mr. Daniel renounced rights to artifacts or profits from them.

Torrie’s father, it ends up in one final, small example of universal connectedness — lived in Beaufort, South Carolina — where Abbi and I are getting married next month.

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