Enough is Enough....

No more negative blogs. I've had it with bad news (especially from the bears on Wall Street). Of course, this is akin to telling the blindfolded captive about to be shot that he should laugh a little. But, for the sake of being able to laugh in the face of catastrophe, I am through with doom and gloom. Hopefully, it is also through with me. What does one choose as a subject when whistling past the graveyard? Politicians and pundits are too easy. How about those scoundrels in the news getting their comeuppance? Nah, one always is afraid to laugh at them for fear it will bring the demons of destruction down on oneself.

I've got it! Why not let's try laughing at ourselves? Self-deprecatory humor doesn't offend anybody. Just getting someone to laugh, whether it's at your own expense or not, is safe though to some, boring (most people like all the attention for themselves). Nevertheless, let's get started.

Last night, our next-door neighbors, Gene and Sandy invited us over for dinner, offering Stephanie and I a brief respite from the death, disease, destruction, hard-drive crashing month that we have had. Sandy had prepared a wonderful dinner of pork loin, spinach salad and potatos of unknown origin and we were celebrating their daughter's acceptance at OU for next fall.

Stephanie had forgotten something at home and after a few minutes she returned to our friends' home mentioning that she smelled gas (not the kind from too much chili) between our two houses. Oh, how we laughed and dined and drank our wine while the Atlanta Gas Light man isolated the leak to where else, our house! We were so amused. A visit to him between courses led the Gas guy to conclude that this was a "Grade 1" leak, which meant nothing to me but made him somber. He told us that a repair crew was en route to fix it. He also said, "This will take some time." Beyond ready to go to sleep (suffering from a bad cold - ha ha) I suggested that he just cover the hole back up with mud and wait until the morning. He did not find that the least bit funny.

We finished our meal while trucks with flashing lights arrived and we told Gene and Sandy that despite the imminent danger, we were returning home. I reassured Stephanie that if there were a major explosion outside of our bedroom, the blast would probably atomize us into the next dimension and we'd never know what happened. Obviously, I didn't share with her my concern that such an occurrence might leave us trapped between two dimensions, wandering the planet looking for closure. Sometimes, a husband has to protect his spouse from bad news.

As Gene set up work lights for the repair crews, we repaired to our home. We giggled, Stephanie and I, as we took sleep aids and laid down to sleep while grunting emergency workers struggled to repair the gas line to our home. Clanking pipes and shouts of encouragement from one crew member to the other were not enough to keep us from entering peaceful slumber. At some point during the night, I realized that there were no more flashing lights, truck motors or Gene's lighting equipment outside and turned on our heater. Ah, the planet had been righted on its axis. After all, what good would I have been standing out there in the rain? Especially in light of my bedroom slippers that I received last Christmas being, along with the Duke Blue Devils logo, purple. It might have sent the wrong signal.

After a great night of sleep, I fear only that our good neighbor Gene and wife Sandy must have been thinking how one-sided this friendship had become. Thanks, guys and don't forget to laugh.

Loss

There isn't an easy answer to approaching death. For now, I would like October removed from the Julian calendar. This had to be the worst month I have ever experienced. How do we, the living, deal with the disappearance of those we love? Until it touches us personally, most of us don't really spend a lot of energy or time dealing with that question. Why should we? It isn't easy to fit that kind of depressing reflection into our busy lives. After all, after we're gone, who cares? Certainly not the departed. And let's face it, our culture isn't set up for long periods of grieving and contemplation. There's money to be made / preserved and appointments to be kept. It's very uncomfortable for those outside of the immediate circle of death to know what to say. The simple utterances are often of little import, save the fact that the utterer cares enough to express them.

As we grow older, the incidences of loss increase exponentially. My father, at his passing, no longer had close friends and few acquaintances still living. He had only his memories. These memories I have tried to memorize so that they become the lore passed down from generation to generation. Sadly, our culture also does not encourage such reminiscence. The written word certainly survives but with so much of it available, it is easily dismissed as non-important to our experience. I fear that whatever value there was in any given life is discarded with the body after death. It doesn't hold interest for any but the few infused with the departed's blood.

In the last few years, I have lost my Mother, my only sister, my best friend Mark C. Anderson, my beloved companion Tahoe, my father and many others whose lives touched those around me, both friend and family. If this is the nature of loss at 56 years old, I'm not sure I want to survive to my father's age of 86.

In loss of a friend, a loved one, a darkness descends that envelopes the soul. It is indeed a part of our life experience but it is unnaturally cruel. It reminds us of the fragility of life. It robs us of the resolute assurance that life is good. It interrupts the flow of consciousness that we select to survive in. It makes all of our temporal goals and achievements meaningless. It pierces our heart. It leaves us defenseless.

Tomorrow, there will be a morning, a noon and an afternoon that need to be filled. It will undoubtedly require enough attention to postpone or cure the emptiness inside. There will be quiet moments under the starlight, the new moon. They will nudge me to remember. My heart will yearn. I will wait for the new day, knowing that those that survive are important, needful. I will live on.