gregspils

The first time that Greg puppysat Declan for me, he took him up to Whidbey Island for Christmas with his family. I got an email from Greg on Christmas Eve telling me that my dog was having a great time chasing waves, playing with Greg’s nephews, and, oh, Declan’s name was now Pickles.

Greg Spils is an awesome slumlord. Not only did he treat me well as a tenant (feeding and being nice to me) but he helped me move when he and his woman Ellie decided to sell the house.

Such good people.

Greg is my brother. Growing up in Anchorage we shared a bedroom together with bunk beds. I had the top bunk, Greg had the bottom. Which was unfortunate as I wet the bed longer than your average kid (more on that later).

I have so many memories of growing up with Greg that it’s hard to single out an absolute favorite. One that comes to mind, though, is my father laying in Greg’s lower bunk at bedtime telling us stories about two fictional characters he created named Booger and Shane. Within a few sentences it was clear that Booger and Shane were fictional versions of Gregory and Daniel and the adventures closely followed our own day’s events. We loved those stories. And for years after we argued about who was Booger and who was Shane. Dad’s stories didn’t make that clear.

At first neither of us wanted to be Booger and as the older brother I took it upon myself to assure Greg that he was, in fact, Booger. As Shane, I was smug. After a few years of arguing about it Greg got smart and one day proudly adopted Booger as his own identity. He flipped a 180 and I never saw it coming.

Booger turned a lemon into sweet lemonade.