Best wishes to you and yours,
Although I didn’t know it
then, one of my best Christmas gifts arrived after moving into a 400 square
foot night watchman’s room decades ago as a high school teacher. Walking up and down a termited,
rotting, rickety stair case for five months before Christmas 
arrived,
I reflected on being a tool-less, clueless St. Ignatius High guy, who was never
exposed to shop classes; son of a super hard working dad, who since thirteen
delivered newspapers and had little time for hobbies or other skill building; a
Peace Corps Volunteer, who was saddened by how poorly so much of the world had
to live; a rookie teacher, who had only a single, deadly boring college class
on teaching, but who figured that theory stuff didn’t matter as much as
delivering feelings and real world experiences in a classroom.
My little room was skinned and roofed in creosoted sheet
metal.
Sheet metal buildings were about all the 2.5 acre Rubel Pharms had to live in back then, which had been bought from Al Bourne, owner of Singer Sewing Machine, by a kid whose life experiences hinged on building forts and traveling the world a dozen plus times looking at Castles and falling into adventures.
John Steinbeck could have used what had been Al Bourne’s Lemon and Citrus Packing factory to depict scenes from Grapes of Wrath. He could have used Michael’s adventures to pen many more good books.
Every day we five guys, who lived
on this tinny Phunny Pharm, might cross paths amidst the tools, antiques, piled
railroad ties, piled lumber and free range chickens,
dogs, peacocks, goldfish, etc... But two
giants defined the Pharm back then. One,
barrel-chested and usually encased in overalls, served as Head Janitor and
King. The other, plain shirted,
unassuming, and quiet, served as Chief Architect. 
Michael
was a perfectly sized Santa Claus. His
Pharm was filled with ancient tools… that could make phunny toys.
Michael, like Santa, was an old world gift giver. To those willing to work hard and be good, he
gave and gave.
Michael didn’t give you fancily wrapped stuff that goaded the Jones to buy more. He gave things that counted in life, skills that lasted, feelings that warmed your heart, views often forgotten. Michael would not have fit in Vance Packard’s books.
Even on his dressy days, Michael’s clothes came via Salvation Army. Properly so, since he seemed to be teaching and building his own Salvation Army out of those who came to help him build forts and castles.
This Santa Claus,
usually disguised under a stinky, creosoted hat, flannel shirts, and often
mismatched shoes, gave us the joys of his unending stories from his reindeerish
world travels. He gave us tool sheds
full of tool-toys to play with, 
a
fort to build in a cork unscrewed reservoir that turned into a seven story
castle made by pharmers of wine bottles and recycled junk that even Prince
Charles loved.
This
Don Quixote rode us through a time warp back into childhood. And to the hundreds who worked, ate, drank,
swapped stories, and shared some lies with Michael Clark Rubel, none of us ever
heard another ever utter anything but heart warming
words about Kaia’s Mykee.
Whoever makes the amazing universe that Hubble photos marvels our eyes with makes too few MyKees. Those of us blessed with rubbing shoulders, piling rocks, using decrepit tools, climbing OSHA-failing scaffolds, lifting wine jars, eating steaks… with him are bigger, stronger, wiser, funnier, and hopefully more considerate for having been blessed with his time.
He mentored us on how our hands
could work with our hearts, heads, and funny bones. He taught us how to temper or erase mean
words. He lectured us against using bad
words. He showed us the meaning of
living and singing like a Happy Fox after a hard day’s work. He outgrew his kid dreams from fortress
pilings to advance to
Don Quixote may have inspired him, but he was also a real Santa Claus, a giver of true gifts.
The Big Clock Maker in the Sky gave
me great parents who from my first Christmas on scrimped, worked, and saved to send my sister and me to great schools, to play
on great teams, and allowed us to add inspiring stories to each successive
Christmas. Mom wondered why, with
degrees Piled Higher and Deeper, I loved living in a yard more cluttered than
Sanford and Sons’ junk yard, in a house framed out of rail road ties,
dismantled barns, and recycled beams, rather than in a fancy complex. 
But
long before they went to heaven, mom and dad realized that what Michael and the
Rubelian Pharm & Castle Crew taught kids like me
was much more important than what degrees generally bestowed. High school graduate Michael’s spirit taught
us that zestfully using one’s hands, head, heart, and imagination was a bigger
key to opening heavy doors than any degree or pedigree.
Without
a price tag attached, but often with some sweat and muscle, every day Michael
gave all of us treasured Christmas gifts and Yule Tide stories we could keep,
as long as we can remember. Only a giant
of a man was big enough to give such gift away every day. Many of us will selfishly try to shine,
embellish, and keep those gifts from rusting, for we
so liked Mykee’s way.
On October 15th Michael’s energy went into the cosmos. Where he figured you went and spun around, “Something like electricity.”
Hey Mykee, keep checking on us, make sure we return our tools, and send us some of your boundlessly good energy, especially when we need it to measure up.
May you all have treasured Santa Clauses like Michael in your lives.
May Christmas and the New Year be healthy for you and yours.
Dwayne …
:>)
My sister
is doing well in this her eight year after her kidney pancreas transplant. Some of her recent computer work and writings
from the Lighthouse Magazine can be found at this
link.
http://dwaynehunn.biz/lighthouse_marlene_fundraiser.htp
More
Rubelia pictures and stories at http://dwaynehunn.biz/rubelia.htm
Michael Rubel memorabilia at http://www.cafepress.com/dailygrill/3990918