Tag: death

Wednesday’s Theme Music

Today is Wednesday, March 23, 2022. I’m still processing my friend’s death yesterday, Mike. It’s remote and abstract to me at this point, astonishing and bewildering. My neurons follow paths for what it must be like in Ukraine as people lose their friends and loved ones suddenly to gunfire and explosion. That life is so treasured to us, that people’s deaths leave such gaping holes, that we work so hard on medicine and health, exercising and dieting to prevent sickness and death, and then that humans kill one another for bizarre fucking reasons when other avenues of co-existence are available, renders me to sighs and head shaking.

A faded azure sky embraces the sun. Full spring is in effect. Sunrise came at 7:09 AM and sunset will take at 7:26 PM. It’s 56 degrees F right now, on its way to a 68 F high. Should be a lovely day.

My beer group is meeting tonight. Mike was a large part of that. Plans had been made for me to hand off a book that was loaned to me, giving it to Mike because he was visiting with the book’s owner. Now, change.

Meanwhile sick cat steadily declines. Eating is next to impossible for him due to tumors. I have the back door open, and he made his way out to sit in the sunshine on the patio. Papi has made a solid recovery. I had the door open yesterday afternoon, and that boy galloped in and out, tail up, playing hide and seek with me. Tucker is solidly recovered, too, reclaiming his space on the bed by my head last night, talking to me this morning about his food and drink requirements, and eating with gusto.

My cheeky neurons are playing Del Shannon’s “Runaway” from 1961 in the morning mental music stream. I was five when it came out, but it was a big hit and part of the AM rock and roll rotation for years.

Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, and get the vax.

3

While I Was Away

I was out shopping with my wife, enjoying a fresh spring day. We’d been tight about going out during the pandemic. She is compromised with RA, so she worries, and I worry.

While I was shopping, I thought often at my sick cats at home, hoping they were okay, processing sticker shock and dismay at the most recent men fashion trends, especially in shoes.

I returned home. Both cats were alive and okay (relatively). My voice mail notified me of messages. The first few sounded shaken and just asked to receive a call back, no subject given. They arrived hours ago.

The third one got explicit. Word had gone out. ‘Mike’ had been hit by a truck and killed. No confirmation of which Mike. There are three in our group of friends.

Further messages and emails clarified: a friend of mine named Mike was hit by a truck and killed while delivering food to senior citizens. Eighty-five years old himself, he stayed busy, volunteering at numerous places, always helping others, or traveling to museums and art exhibitions around the country. He’d been a mainstay in our beer group and was the driving force behind the donations collected from the beer drinkers to fund STEM efforts in local at-risk, low-income schools, and for the regional high school robotics program. He leaves behind a wife who was also busy as a volunteer, and a huge gap in our community.

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A Commnication Dream

I was traveling alone. Between flights, I was staying at a hotel. The hotel was pleasant, and I was in a mini suite. It was a smooth trip. I had everything I needed and all was working. My fight was at 6:35 AM. I thought that was perfect; I always prefer traveling early. I made my plans, working backward, getting there ninety minutes before the flight, traveling to the airport, checking out of the hotel. Meanwhile, I passed time by having dinner, surfing the net, having a drink, and socializing with strangers. All smooth, under control, relaxed. I decide to dress, check out, and head for the airport. But before I do, I’ll check emails. I found that my wife had sent me messages but that I’d missed them. She wants me to call.

I check out and call her on the way to the airport. The connection is horrible. She’s angy and upset. It sounds like she’s telling me someone died. I set my phone down. It gets misplaced but two woman come up with it as I’m searching for it. The phone has a code on it in red numbers: 752. I somehow understand that this a code to lock the phone because a problem has been detected. I’m exasperated because I don’t think the phone has a problem, and I need to use it now. But using it requires me to call corporate to get it unlocked. I’m confused about where to call because I don’t work. Is it IBM, ISS, Network ICE, Tyco, some other corporation who employed me?

Somehow, though, using my computer, I manage to get the help needed to unlock the phone. It’s still plenty of time before my flight. I call my wife; she tells me my brother-in-law died. Who? Which? Give me details. Instead, she chastises me because I’d not called her in several days. I realize that she’s right, that I hadn’t called or emailed her in almost seven days.

The dream ends.

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Sunday’s Theme Music

Sunday, Sunday. Another day older and deeper in debt. Perhaps, for some. My friend was giving me grief the other day. I told him that we don’t know what happens when we die. He replied, “When you’re dead, you’re dead. That’s it. Over and done.” He’s older. An older space industry engineer. I answered with reminders. What we didn’t know about existence fifty years ago. Hundred years ago, a thousand. How our knowledge improves — or we think it does — as our species matures. Develops new tools. New manners of perception. Wasn’t out to convince him. Just amused by his certainty. His response resonates with my beliefs about reality: we don’t know much about it and eat it in very small bites.

Today is Sunday, October 3, 2021. A fall month in the north. Spring month in the south. Someone posted a quote from Kierkegaard and his preference for fall. Here, paraphrasing: “In the spring, you look down at the ground. In the fall, you look up at the sky.” I look up in either but I grok what he’s saying.

Sunset will come at 6:49 PM. Sunshine splashed through our autumn blue sky at 7:10 AM. The trees are changing, and I do love the explosion of yellow, gold, and reds among the greens. For temperatures, we’re expecting a high of around 80 F. No rain. Light breeze. AQI of 1, again. Glorious walking day. I shall indulge.

The morning mental music stream has Dave Grohl and the Foo Fighters playing “Walk” (2011) today. Came about while walking yesterday. Perfect in so many dimensions of air, sights, sounds, and temperature, the cap on a day that went well for me. So I pushed to walk hard, fast, far, and back. While out there, I was chuckling. Between smoke, heat, and COVID-19 concerns, walking like this was limited in 2021. Nice to be able to do it again.

Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, get the vax and booster. Sing a song, laugh, read…whatever. Have a good day. Cheers

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Updated

Well, no avoiding it. Get it done. That had become her new motto. She had gotten it done for her husband. Children. Work. Now it was time for her to get it done for herself.

This, if anything, proved that she could not wait. COVID-19 had interrupted. Age was interrupting. Nature. No doubt. “Get it done.”

Coffee was first sipped. Comfort drink. And for fortitude. Then she pulled up Excel. Opened BucketList.exl. Found ZZ Top. She’d always wanted to see them. Her husband had seen them three times before dying. So when they’d been scheduled for the Britt Festival this year, she’d jumped all over it. Get it done.

Now the bassist was dead. Dusty Hill. Original. Sure ZZ Top would go on. But. Like Cream. She’d hoped to see them but Cream only had Clapton left. At least she’d seen the Beatles. Stones. Pink Floyd. Jethro Tull. Heart. Journey. Foreigner. All thanks to her husband. Get it done. Because time didn’t wait. She’d missed on The Who. Had put it off. Then. Moon was dead.

She would still go to the ZZ Top concert. Wouldn’t be the same. Just like with the Temptations. They’d done all the music but not with the members she’d known growing up.

It had not been the same.

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