ENTRY NUMBER 500

 I finally arrive at the 500th time I have published an entry here in this silly thing called a blog.  I have been thinking about this entry for awhile now.  I want it to be different from the other 499 entries.  I have no idea how this entry will look like.  There is a good possibility that some of what is written here will have been covered somewhere in the previous entries.  Let's see how it goes.

The first entry I published in this blog took place on October 6, 2010.  Doesn't seem that long ago but it has been about eleven and a half years running.  I have not published consistently.  I wrote when I felt like writing, not to meet a schedule.  

Entry number 001 was titled "GOLDEN YEARS".  It had nothing to do with the David Bowie song but may have been inspired by it.  I may have been listening to Bowie as I started writing it.  In short, it had to do with getting old.  My premise was we are always aging until the moment we die.  Those golden years don't happen until we reach our ultimate age, right before we die.  The golden years we all try to get to only last a split second between life and death.  Sounds silly now, but I think perhaps I was trying to come off as a deep thinker and philosopher than just being who I really am.

A few statistics on this tome of mindless thoughts from a "boy" in Missouri:

At the time I am writing, this blog has been looked at, if not read, 86,600 times.  That is an average of 173.5 times for each of the 499 entries.

It has been read in over 18 countries.  Only 55% of the views have been from the United States.  Countries that are represented in the viewing audience include Russia, France, Germany, Ukraine, Sweden, Canada, United Arab Emirates, United Kingdom, Poland, Japan, India, China, Netherlands Brazil, Romania, Latvia and Czechia.

The most read entry, and this really surprised me, was the relating of a story that my grandfather use to tell me about an Indian in the Ozarks named Falling Rock.  Other popular entries include ones about my fear of tornadoes, about two young ladies named Rachel and Alesia and, of course, about Barbara.

These statistics are far larger than I ever expected to attain.  It is still a small blog in the world of the internet but it is out there.  Not all of the 499 previous entries were original writings.  In the early days I did quote Mr. Carlin and some of my favorite songs as well as a quote or two from President Nixon.  The clear majority of entries though are original.

I have written about people in my life.  I have written about events that I experienced as I went down this path.  I have also written my thoughts on things that were going on around me.

I wrote about the summer of 2018.  It was the hardest six month period in my entire life.  It was a time when I lost Barbara, my father, a long time neighbor and good friend, his daughter, and an uncle.  The years immediately before 2018 had their fill of loss as well.  In 2016 I lost my eldest sister and in 2017 I lost a long time friend that I met when I started working at Dit-MCO.  After 2018 I have lost two uncles and four aunts as well as a four coworkers at Dit-MCO who I adored.  One of the most striking posts on Facebook over this past year was put there by my Uncle Jim.  He is the youngest of 5 siblings and after losing his brother (my dad) in 2018, his sister (my Aunt Norva) in 2019 and then finally losing two sisters within the last year (my Aunt Fay and my Aunt Velma) he put up a picture of himself with his brother and three sisters and a one sentence emotion.  "Now all my siblings are in Heaven."  He had lost his family in the space of only a few short years.  I love my Uncle Jim and I know that his faith helps to carry him onward through his life.

I have spent my life observing and listening while occasionally making my maturing thoughts known out loud.  I like to think I was open minded about other ideas and I think I was.  I learned this from my grandfather.  It is okay to be wrong.  It is okay to change your mind.  This is called maturing, growing ... learning.  It is also okay to affirm your thinking and to believe you are correct and not agree with with what others may think.  To be able to stand for what you believe in is very important as part of our growth and maturity.  The important thing is to agree or disagree while being respectful to those who you are speaking with.  There does not seem to be much respect being shown in the world these days.  Disgust and hate have replaced the idea of respect.  What has replaced the importance of respect is the silencing of ideas, not only by individuals but also by corporate entities.  Sorry, I got off track for a bit.  What I was going to say is that these writings that are taken from my observations and some things I have heard and experienced are to show what I have learned from them through my 65 years on this planet.  Not all of it is pretty, but all of it is human.  None of us are perfect.  None of us are totally right in our thinking. What we all are though is human.  As we go about our day to day lives and interactions, I believe this is an important thing to remember.

"I don't think I'm racist."  I spoke these words to my grandfather on an afternoon visit after work one summer day.  His response was short and to the point, "Everyone's a racist .... everyone."  As he said these words he did not exhibit any of his ordinary mannerisms that he commonly used when making a point.  There was no leaning forward at me.  He didn't point his pipe and stub finger at me.  There wasn't a small "hr-mph".  He did not even look at me when making the statement.  He just looked straight ahead speaking steady and matter of factly.  There was no follow up, just silence as we both seemed to let his words sink in.  I have only seen him respond to me in this manner one other time.  It was a personal time when we were alone in the dining room of the old house.  This manner of responding was rare for the old man and reserved for situations that seemed to be very important and personal to him.  The conversation did not go much further than that on that afternoon.  He changed the topic shortly thereafter, his point being voiced and made.

I thought about that short conversation several time over the course of my life.  I still think of that afternoon even today, especially with society being in the state that it is in.  This is my theory on what my grandfather's thinking was.  Knowing my grandfather and his stories of life along with little hints that I observed of him over the remaining years of his life, I think it is pretty close to what he was telling me.  "Everyone is racist.... everyone."  My grandfather lived a life that he thought was proper.  No, he was not perfect.  He had plenty of flaws but when his flaws came out, as flaws always do, he did his best to make it right.  Grandpa wouldn't give this explanation in these words, they are my own, but I think the general idea is there.  The human species is a tribal species.  This is not unusual in nature, many are tribal, some more than others.  The thing about the human species is that although we are tribal that vast majority of humans try to not let that tribalism rule our behavior.  Even men like my grandfather, who are seen by those he encountered as being fair and treating everyone the same, deep down have this tribal sense of belonging.

"I don't think I'm racist."  One day in gym class at Ruskin High School we were playing volleyball.  It was a time when the Ruskin community was becoming more diverse as we were seeing the number of black kids increase every year.  Personally, this did not bother me.  I didn't see it bother any of my classmates that I could tell.  To be honest, it seemed to bother the parents more then us kids.  I had already reached my six foot frame when I was a junior, so I was fairly tall.  During this game that day I had the opportunity to lay down a wicked spike on my opponent across the net from me.  "Yeah boy!!" I exclaimed with a fist pump.  Then I looked my classmate who I had just spiked the ball on.  "Boy, huh.."  The black face looking at me looked both angry and hurt.  I did not say those words intending to hurt.  It was part of my vocabulary.  I did not even realize that he was of a different race.  The words just came out and it hurt and angered him.  I did not respond.  I kept silent.  I should have apologized.  The incident did not progress into anything but to this day I can see his face, I can hear my words.  I should have been more careful, more aware and more sensitive.  I understand that now.  Since that day I have taken care in my words as much as I can.  I keep that moment in my memory as a reminder to do so.

So this is what I got from my grandfather on that day.  We all think others are different.  We all think we are pretty good people and "our" people are pretty good people for the most part.  Every race has great people.  A lot of great people.  Every race also has very wicked people. Not as many as good people but still the wicked ones are out there.  Each one of us understand people of our own race better then we understand people of other races and, of course, each race considers it the better.  All of us have to train our minds to take on an outlook of keeping that behavior under control or better yet, completely hidden and not even thought about.  That tribal instinct should not even be known to ourselves.  Its should be so small in our minds that we don't realize it is there.  Still we have that basic tribalism that stays with us.  It stays with all of us.  "Everyone".  Some are better at this than others.  My grandfather was a master at it.  I am not so good at hiding it as he was.  We all need to try though because in order for this country, this world to survive, we have to.  As for me, I continue to work at it.  I try to see people by what I observe how they live and what they say.  I have a long ways to go.

It took me over three years since we lost Barbara, but I have manage to take another step in moving forward in life.  I won't try to trick you, moving forward has been a very difficult thing to do.  This spring with help from Brett, I began to make this house look more like "Bill" instead of "Bill and Barb".  I got my mind ready to let go of a lot of Barbara in the house.  Mainly her clothes, books and, to be quite frank, junk that she liked to have around.  By this I mean that stuff that didn't bring on strong memories of Barb or our life together, but just stuff that she liked to keep.  The house looks different now.  There is still a lot of Barb there, but I tried to transform into a house that reflects me.  Made it more comfortable for me.  I am happy with the result.  Her wedding dress still hangs in the closet and the shoes she wore on November 21, 1975.  Her chair that she sat in during the last years of her life sits with the crocheted throw that the nurses laid over her after she died.  It was difficult for me to do and I know I should have taken this step a couple of years ago.  It is healthy for me emotionally as well as physically I guess.  I still love her.  I always will.  At the same time I need to keep moving forward in life as difficult as that may be.  I'm getting there with the help of a few special friends, one in particular.  Thank you Lisa for your advice and help.

Barbara's Chair

All of my regular readers know of my love of music, literature and baseball.  What I haven't touched on very much, if at all, is my love for movies.  To start with I have a lot of favorite male actors but there is one female actress that rises above all others.  Sandra Bullock.  It has become kind of a running joke among my family and friends but I do like her.  She is very good in my mind.  Comedies, dramas, sci-fi, she can do anything.  By my calculations she has been cheated out of some 25 Oscars ... just my opinion. 

Seriously, movies have had a big influence on me by the messages they try to get across.   Not all movies are made for a message, most are for pure entertainment value but there are a few that have a statement to make.  I don't agree with all the messages put out there but I think it is a good thing if a movie makes you think after you have seen it.  

I think instead of getting onto all of the messages, I am going to list some of my favorite moves that reach for more than simple entertainment value.  These are not in any particular order as to how I favor them, just a little insight into my thinking.  Let you get to know me a little better.

    "One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest"  "Fargo"  "Dr. Strangelove"  "Being There"  "Catch 22"  "Grand Torino"  "Miller's Crossing"  "Network"  "Patton"  "Wall Street"  "Girl Interrupted"  "28 Days"  "Lincoln"  "The Man With The Golden Arm"  "All The President's Men"  "The Sunset Limited"  "To Kill A Mockingbird"  "The Mouse That Roared"  "Lilies Of The Field"  "Shawshank Redemption"  "Waking Up"  "Cat On A Hot Tin Roof"  "Guess Who's Coming To Dinner"  "Dog Day Afternoon"  "Forrest Gump"  "Up"  "Conspiracy"  "The Blind Side"  "Philadelphia"  "A Time To Kill"  and many more if I took time to really think about it.  These movies, though, come immediately to my mind so they are more than likely to be the ones I go to.

Over these 500 entries, I have tried to address things that I have learned during my 65 years.  I told them in song lyrics, the modern day philosophers as I refer to the songwriters as.  There is another subset of philosophers and I have quoted them a lot as well.  Lenny Bruce, George Carlin, Bill Hicks, Richard Pryor told their philosophies by making observations of life and relaying these observations honestly but with exaggerations to show how ridiculous some human behaviors are.  If you listen to them, they will make you laugh, but if you listen to the sub logic under the exaggerations, you find the truth they are trying to bring out.

I also told of my observations through stories that, for the most part, are true and are a part of my life.  Some involved teachers and others came from a few interactions with authority.  A lot of the lessons I learned came from those who I looked up to with upmost respect. Family members and those outside the family.  Teachers and clergy.  Neighbors and classmates.  I have been extremely lucky in life and the people who have been a part of my life.

Observing and listening are perhaps two of the most important tools we have as we proceed through life.  Care must be taken though because observing or listening to the wrong ideas and actions can do more damage than good.  I was lucky and I made some mistakes.  I have made some big mistakes in life.

Hopefully, this blog of stories and ideas, good things and not so good things, can make even a small impact on anyone who stumbles across this collection of entries long after I am gone.

Thanks for reading my dear friends.  A lot has been left untold, but I plan on working at getting those things told in the future.

CHRISTMAS TRADITIONS

 Whenever I think of traditions, my mind goes to Topal singing "Tradition" in the film "Fiddler On The Roof".  When Topal sings that magical song you can truly feel the importance of traditions in life.  We all have traditions of one kind or another.  Christmas traditions though are some of the best kept traditions as each family creates their own in order to celebrate the season.

As I was growing up, our family had some very specific traditions that my parents followed in order to while making Christmas a magical time for us kids, also held our Christian beliefs were emphasized so that we remember why we are celebrating this special day.

It started by going out to buy a Christmas tree at a local lot.  Artificial trees were never under consideration.  The tree never went up immediately after Thanksgiving but rather somewhere between two and three weeks before Christmas.  Dad made our Christmas tree stand using his welding skills to create what had to be the heaviest and sturdiest stand in all of Kansas City.  One thing was for sure.  Once dad had put that tree in the stand and had it clamped, standing straight and tall, the tree was not going anywhere.  Once the tree was up, it was up to dad to untangle the strings of lights and check out the bulbs for those who had burnt out somehow over the year while in storage in the garage.  This was not an easy task.  It seemed that no matter how careful dad had put the strings of lights away the previous year, the entanglement that he found the lights in was excruciating.  Dad would spend an hour or so getting the wires loose from each other.  Then came the task of replacing the bulbs.  Now these were big glass incandescent bulbs and if one burned out, then the who string would go dark.  In order to find the offending bulb, you had to replace bulbs one at a time with a known good bulb until suddenly as dad screwed in a bulb, the whole string lit up in a colorful display that lit the whole living room.  Putting the lights on the tree had a certain process.  Dad would instruct me to go stand at the top of the stairs while he placed the strings on the limbs of the tree.  When he got to the back of the tree, he would hand me the string of lights to pull around the back of the tree and hand back to him on the front of the tree slowly wrapping the tree in lights from top to bottom.

While dad was doing all of this, mom and my siblings were busy popping popcorn and running a needle and thread through the kernels to create strings of pop corn, which would be handed off to dad to wrap the tree in the same way he had done the lights.  Many injuries were inflicted upon those trying to push a needle through a popcorn kernel.  The fingers would heal before Christmas though and would be forgotten.  Foil "icicles" we placed on the tree ... one string of foil at a time.  One .... at  ... a ... time .... Mom oversaw the placing of these little strips of foil to be sure that none of us cheated by putting more than one ... at ... a .... time.... on the tree. (sigh)

Then the family ornaments came out.  They were the same ones every year and each holds specific images.  One set of decorations were plastic balls with "Angle Hair" stuffed inside.  The angle hair was very fine strands of fiberglass that, we were warned, would cut your fingers open if not handled carefully.  Fun time.  The ornaments could attack you while decorating the tree.  Included in the ornaments were ones that each of us had made at school, at church or at home.  Each of us hung our own ornaments on the tree as it slowly became the magical looking tree that would stand through New Years Day.

Christmas Eve at the Clark house was not only full of excitement, but also full of reverence for the holiday.  Mom always laid a bible next to our little Nativity Scene that we had set up.  It was always open to Luke Chapter 2.  This is the chapter that tells the story of the birth of Christ and the visitation of Angels to shepherds in their fields to bring them the Good News.  On Christmas Eve, before we went off to bed, the family would sit and listen as my mother read the Scripture from the book of Luke.  It was followed by a prayer and sometimes a discussion about what had been read.  We went to bed with that story in our heads and the true meaning of the holiday was remembered by the whole family.

Christmas morning at the Clark household was torture.  We kids could not leave our room until mom and dad awoke and gave us the go ahead to go downstairs to see what was under the tree.  I don't think we ever found out what would happen if we had left our rooms before getting the ok from dad.  There was too much at stake to take that chance.

When mom and dad finally came out of their sleep we would WALK, not run, down the stairs and Christmas began.  After seeing what Santa had left us, one of us would be assigned to hand out the presents under the tree.  Before we could play with anything though, wrapping paper had to be cleaned up and the house had to be in order.

While we were picking up paper and beginning to play with our toys, mom was in the kitchen baking apple and cherry turnovers.  That was a tradition that took place every year.  As for myself, I would be in the living room munching on my mom's pecan tassies and was pretty full by the time the turnovers were ready to eat.  All too soon, we had to stop everything and get dressed to visit the grandparents.

We usually visited my Aunt Fay and Grandma Clark in the afternoon.  The Clark family and the Hill family were very different.  At my grandma Clarks, sometimes we ate, most times we didn't.  We would especially enjoy it of my Aunt and Uncle from Colorado were visiting.  Sometimes the Clark Christmas dinner was held at my Aunt Norva's place which was bigger and could handle the size of the gathering.  I really don't remember any traditions at my grandma Clarks.  It was usually a low keyed affair with the adults talking among each other and the kids trying to keep entertained.  To be honest, it always seemed to me that the biggest holiday for the Clarks was Memorial Day.  Definitely some big traditions for that day in the family.

In the evening it was off to my Grandma and Grandpa Hill's place.  I think what made the difference between the Clark Christmas and the Hill Christmas was my Grandfather's love for the holiday.  He absolutely LOVED Christmas and it was filled with family traditions.  From my grandma's candied figs to the eggnog set out on the buffet.  There were two punch bowls of eggnog set out.  On one end was the eggnog for the kids, the other end was "adult" eggnog.  Took me a long time to figure out what the difference was between the two.

Let's take a half step back concerning my grandfather.  One of the traditions he did was to entertain any of the grandchildren when they happened to visit on the few days before Christmas by reciting "A Visit From St. Nicholas" otherwise known as "The Night Before Christmas"  It was one of his biggest joys in life.  I remember several times being over there because we would go down to the Frisco to pick Grandpa up after work.  After Grandpa had cleaned up, we would sit on the floor as he told the story, his eyes sparkling through the entire poem which ha knew by heart and told it as a true story teller.  IT was magic.  In 1982 my sister came up for Christmas and we took Brett, Bo and Kim over to visit my grandfather on Christmas Eve.  As Brett sat on Grandpa's lap and Bo and Kim sat on the floor listening to the old man tell the tale, my mind was carried away to a time when I sat where Bo and Kim were, hearing him tell the story with as much fun and love as he was doing that day.  It was another tradition that the old man created more for himself, I think, than for the grandkids.

Christmas night at the Hill's was about the same every year but special in it's own way.  There was a Christmas goose on one end of the table and a turkey on the other.  Creamed potatoes, oysters, home made cranberries among many other dishes that were presented every year.  The dinner would be followed by "discussions" about politics or college football or the Chiefs.  Sometimes these discussions got rather loud.  I remember Grandma leaving the turkey out and while the discussion was going on, my Uncle Melvin would be picking at the turkey eating the whole time while my Uncle Buster would constantly have a plate full of pie.  Like Buster would have four or five slices of different pies which he ate at one time.  Pumpkin, Cherry, Apple, Pecan, Mincemeat .. it didn't matter.  If it was pie, Buster would have a slice on his plate.

Slowly things would start to quiet down and the families would begin to head back to their homes.  When we got home Christmas night, we were too tired to play with any games or toys.  Christmas had been celebrated for another year and families had come together on both my father's and my mother's side and it was good.  It seemed to be over all too early.

When I got married and began my life on my own, I found Barb and myself slowly developing our own traditions.  That is the thing about traditions I guess.  You can not plan out traditions, but rather the traditions kind of create themselves as you go through the years and find yourself doing the same things from year to year.  My little family traditions started as a combination of Barb's traditions merging with my traditions that we brought together.  Apple and Cherry turnovers on Christmas morning were replaced by cinnamon rolls and coffee cake.  Instead of Brett waiting patiently for his parents to be roused from their sleep, Barb and I found ourselves waiting patiently for Brett to awaken.  Sometimes Barb had to stop me from going into his room to wake him up.  We bought one Christmas album every Christmas so we always had new music to listen to.  Slowly we developed our own collection of family ornaments that became a part of  Christmas. Barb brought the tradition of little toys being placed in the Christmas stockings which was totally foreign to me. My Christmas stocking was always fruit and nuts. 

Now, at this point in my life, it seems all the traditions have died.  Mom and dad moved to Alabama.  Brett is off on his own and I am never quite sure when he will make his way over to my house.  Barbara has passed and with her, it seems the joy of Christmas left with her.  I do listen to Christmas music on quiet nights when it is only the dog and me.  I listen to the songs my father loved and the songs that Barbara loved.  My last three Christmas' have been quiet and tame.  No Christmas tree has been put up and decorated.  I have no need for it.  It was Barb's Christmas tree.  I set it up for her and she and Brett decorated it.  Gone is the excitement that Christmas morning use to bring.

But you know, I do enjoy Christmas.  It is different than it use to be for sure, but it has become a time of reflection for me.  I think back on my life and how blessed I have been.  I can sit back and see my grandfather in my mind holding my son on his lap as he told his Christmas Story of St Nick.  I can see my mother in the kitchen getting those turnovers ready to eat.  I can look back at all the times that I sat and watched Brett and Barb go through the ornaments one by one.  I can open my Bible to Luke, Chapter 2 and as I read the story of the first Christmas, hear my mothers voice reading  it.

No Christmas is not what it use to be.  It has morphed along with the years and the events in my life into something totally different.  But it is still magic.  It is still good.  It is still a special day and most important, it is still a celebration of the greatest Gift that God has given to mankind.

That is how I celebrate now at this point in my life. I guess it is a tradition in it's own way.

Have a Merry Christmas.  Have hope for a good New Year.

JUST A LITTLE CHIT-CHAT

I just noticed that I have not written or posted since July 6th earlier this year.  That is too long of a period between posts.  So let's see what we can come up with.

Today is Tuesday.  Election Day in the United States.  Yeah .... not going to write about that.  I am not going to write about politics at all. You all probably pretty much know what my thoughts are ... at least most of you.  There are those that think they know where my stance is when it becomes apparent that they do not have a clue.  

This whole year has been marred by the CV-19 virus.  No sense in talking about that either.  Lifestyles for all of us have been completely turned upside down.  The thing about this virus thing is that it has been tied to politics and the election and so everyone is up in arms against each other across the board.  Nah, not going to write about that either.

Major League Baseball was different this year.  To me it was a little disappointing.  Because of the virus restrictions, the Majors only played a 60 game season.  They went ahead with the playoffs and had a World Series.  I decided that for me, this was not a legitimate World Series and should not go into the record books.  My basis was that a mere 60 games is not nearly enough games for the cream to rise to the top.  You need at least 162 games for the best teams to prove their worth over time.  However, I was glad they did play this so called World Series because of the last 30 seconds of game 4.  That little amount of time made the whole thing worthwhile.  I encourage you to check out the 9nth inning of game 4.  Definitely worth your time.  But baseball was redefined by the virus and I don't want to write about the virus ... so I am not going to write about baseball.

Actually when you stop to think about it, just about every part of life was touched by either the virus or politics.  Perhaps that is why I haven't written in so long.

I was planning on traveling to Alabama in March to visit my mother and family members but thanks to the virus, It was delayed.  Mom was in lock down at her living facility so there was not much point in going.  I did finally make it to Alabama in mid-October though.  My little brother and his wife, myself and my mother and sister and her husband celebrated mom's 90th birthday a month and a half early.  Mom was able to escape from her facility to spend a week at my sisters.  It was a good visit.  It wasn't a perfect visit though.  I fell off my sister's front porch one night while staring up at the wonderment of the stars and tore up my knee and my ribs.  Those of you who have been following this blog know that I do not have a very high pain threshold and this hurt.  Then there was the hurricane that blew through putting my return to Kansas City off by a day so I wouldn't be driving through it.  Other than those two things, it was a very good week.  I am happy to report that my mother is in very good health and we were able to avoid any political talk.

I don't want this to be a wrap up of the year and it feels like it is turning into that.  I want to save that for December.

Social media ... well, I have been limiting my time on Facebook and stuff because, quite frankly, there is too much hatred flying around the election.  One of my dear friends accused me of being a troll and told me to go somewhere else to do my trolling.  I do not troll.  I asked a question concerning a post by said friend that I did not have the answer to.  Apparently it offended my friend so I was labeled a troll.  I don't play games like that.  If I ask a question, it is a sincere one.  Then there is all of the ignorance people seem to be showing .... nope, not going to go there.  I just have been staying off my computer and the internet a lot.  I don't need all of the arguments and stuff in my life right now and I certainly do not need to be called names or labeled as something I am not.  When I do get on the internet, it is to get news of those that I care about.  How they are doing.  Seeing pictures of my nieces and nephews so I can enjoy them since I can't see them.  I have reconnected with old friends, a couple who are very special in my life as I was growing up.  It has been a good experience.

I can say this about the year so far.  I still miss a lot of people who influenced my life and have passed on.  That will never change.  I still take my grandpa with me everywhere I go in the form of one of his bandanas in my rear pocket of my jeans.  I have been carrying one ever since he died.  On my way to bed each night, one of the last things I do is kiss my fingers and then touch them to a picture of Barbara that I moved out into the living area of the house.  I don't say anything or stop and look at her picture, just give her a tiny kiss each night ... well most nights... at least once a week or so  Last week marked 2 years since my dad passed away in that horrible year of 2018.  I brought out some more of my Uncle Dan's works of art to display and think of him often when I see the results of his marvelous talent.

Now I often stop and ponder my own aging. I turned 64 last month.  One more year until my planned retirement.  I remember when grandpa retired and when my father retired.  Seems so long ago.  Now I am facing my own step into that part of life.  My twilight years are definitely upon me.

This brings about thoughts of my own death.  The thought of dying does not bother me.  I am not scared of dying.  One of my friends reminds me often "To every season ..." and she is right.  There is a time for everything and that includes dying.  Don't get me wrong now, I am not ready to die quite yet.  I feel like I have a few more years on this earth left in me.  However, if my doctor told me I had a week left?  No big deal.  I am ready to deal with that possibility.

I do feel like I am starting to burn out at my job, which is kind of sad.  I have loved my job my whole adult life.  I have loved the company I work for and have been faithful to it.  But I am getting tired I think.  I began to feel the burnout after Barbara died and it has slowly increased.  I think that whole second half of 2018 pretty much burned me out on life in general.  Sometimes, I simply do not care anymore.  Like this election that we are having today.  Yes I think it is important.  Yes I plan on voting.  Bottom line though, is whatever happens, I am not going to have to live with the outcome for very long.  My son will though and that is probably the biggest reason I will vote.  Really though, it is just another election.  This country has survived many of them with different outcomes.  This country will survive this one as well.  But I am not going to talk politics ... remember?

Many of you are bragging "I survived the year 2020!" ... I got that beat easily.  I survived 2018.

VERNA P. HILL - GRANDMA

Today is my Grandma Hill's birthday.  For the occasion I was going to re-post the blog entry I wrote about her.  I did a quick search on the blog to find the entry and to my total surprize it did not show up.  I scrolled through the blog entries to find it and did not find a blog entry for her.  I felt bad.  I have written numerous stories about my Grandma Clark, my Grandpa Hill, all my Uncles and Aunts that have passed away but not one entry about my Grandma Hill.  I have 472 entries in the blog yet she is missing.

Then I noticed something.  When I did my search on the blog for her, I came up with around 20 results.  The results were entries about my Grandpa, my aunts and uncles and stories of growing up and visiting the Frisco yard.

Here is the thing.  I had written all these different stories about life in the Hill family and grandma was always there.  Her life was involved in everything.  She was the rock in the family.  She was the one that people came to.  She was the one that led us all in the right direction, even her husband.

Here is my Grandma Hill in a nutshell.

She was wise but meek.  She was strict but gentle.  She held everyone to the rules but had forgiveness.  She welcomed strangers into her house and cared for them even though she could see they brought their problems on themselves.  She lived a clean life but nursed the sick in her home.  She would give hobos who were hungry and penniless food if they stopped by.  She kept my grandfather in line while being a dutiful wife and talking problems over with him before he made a decision.  She never hated, but loved and people loved her in return.

Here is one story that pretty much defines Grandma.  I was sitting with her at Grandpa's funeral visitation.  She looked over her shoulder and saw a broken old man making his way up the aisle.

"Good gracious" she said with a slight sigh.  "That is so and so (I don't remember the name of the man)"

"Who is he?" I asked with a very curious tone in my voice.

Here was her answer.  "He worked at the Frisco with your grandpa.  He was a drunk.  He use to get drunk all the time and your grandpa would bring him home at times.  We fed him and gave him coffee to sober him up.  Sometimes he would sleep on the couch.  Your grandpa didn't think a man should go home to his wife in that shape so he took the chore on to sober him up and then take him home."  She was watching him the whole time as he went and paid his respects to my grandfather lying in the casket.  He then turned and came over to Grandma.  She was so nice and sincere as she talked to him and thanked him for coming that night.  The man relayed his thoughts on what a great man he thought my grandpa was and then thanked grandma for all of her help.  He held both of them in very high esteem.  After he left, grandma had a smile on her face.  All those years ago she had helped grandpa keep this man's life in line as much as they could, and she knew it was the right thing to do.

I know this is short and there is so much to write about her.  But then I think, I have written SO much about her in this blog.   Her life is here in so many examples of what a wonderful beautiful caring and loving person she was.

This is for her.  This is for her children and grandchildren and all of those people she showed Christian love to.

She was a great woman who had a huge influence on not only me, but so very many people.

I love you Grandma and I miss you terribly.  Thank you for all the life lessons you taught me.

AS TIME GOES BY

I've been aware of the time going by
They say in the end it's the wink of an eye
When the morning light comes streaming in
You'll get up and do it again
Amen.

"The Pretender"  -Jackson Browne- 

A few weeks ago in a gastronomical clinic I lay on a gurney awaiting my turn to be taken into the procedure room for my colonoscopy.  I noticed the pattern on the curtains that protected my privacy, I listened to the chatter between the nurses on the other side of that curtain and I looked about the little room.  I looked down at my left wrist and noticed the plastic bracelet that had been placed there with all my information needed so they would know for sure who they were doing the procedure on, which is a pretty good idea I think.

I looked at and read all of the information that was contained on that band.  As I read who I was my eyes landed on the last line of text that was written there.  "Age: 61 years".  Maybe it was being by myself with nothing to distract me, I am not sure, but seeing that number "61" suddenly brought to my mind the question of where the time had gone.

I have always heard that as you age the time seems to go by faster and faster and seeing my age printed out brought it all home to me.  They are right, the time does start to fly by as you age.  When I was a boy it seemed like a decade between Christmas' and over the last few years it feels like there is only a month or two between each Christmas.  Time is flying by and nothing I can do will slow it down.

One summer day, I was working in the garden with my Grandpa Hill when he suddenly stopped and looked up into the sky with a far away look in his eye.  He was quiet for a few seconds before telling me that if he could choose anytime in which to live, he would choose the time in which he had lived.  During those seconds of gazing into the hot summer sky, I suppose he was looking back on his life, where he had been, what he had done and where life had taken him.  He went on to explain that his time here on earth had allowed him to see horse and buggy days turn into seeing a man walk on the moon.  He had gone from working on steam engines to diesel locomotives.  His main source of news had gone from newspapers and radio to television and on to not just television, but color television.  I have thought about that afternoon often over the years.  This July will mark the 110th anniversary of his birth.

As I lay there seeing my age in print, I thought of that day once again.  I wonder how old Grandpa was on that summer day.  I imagine he probably wasn't much older then than I am now.  Grandpa passed away at the age of 82 in July of 1990, twenty eight years ago.  He was only twenty one years older than I am now.  I think back to the day we laid him to rest on that hot July day.  I remember the thoughts that went through my mind as I contemplated a future without the old man to go visit at least once a week throughout the year.  I remember that day so very clear and as I think back on it, it does not seem like it has been even close to twenty eight years ago.  The first year without him seemed like forever but now, July first and July tenth come around so very quickly anymore and this July seems to be approaching much fast than last July did.

This weekend members of the family will gather in Alabama to celebrate my father's ninetieth birthday.  Ninety years.  For my dad to reach the age of ninety is almost a miracle.  No, it is a miracle.  To understand why I say this I encourage you to read my entry My Dad: A Special Life .  It is a long complicated story of which I have written a few times and so I won't go into the details here.  Suffice it to say that dad has lived around sixty years past what they thought he would.  Our sixty one years as father and son have, well let's say, had some rocky times, some very rocky times.  But as each of us has grown over the years and we notice the years going by, I think both of us have come to realize what a special relationship we do have together.  The times are not rocky any more, not at all these days.  I feel there is a mutual respect and love for one another that we had a little trouble expressing when I was younger.  That isn't to say we didn't have great times as well.  Over the last sixty one years, me and my dad have had more good times than bad.  Looking back over the years I can easily and honestly say there were many more good , if not great, times than rocky ones.

I remember a photograph that use to be in mom and dad's house.  I must have been about fourteen, maybe a little younger.  It was a picture of a baseball game taken at Jay Allard's ball fields.  A game was being played that I remember very well.  It was kind of a father/son game.  The picture shows me at bat in mid swing.  I was a fairly good hitter and the form that is depicted in this picture shows why.  Not to brag or anything, but I always thought my form shown in that picture looked like a young right handed George Brett or Carl Yastrzemski (I know... dreamer.  I can almost see my dad, Uncle Jim and Jay Allard rolling their eyes at this description of my swing).  Back foot planted solid, front foot stepping into the pitch and straight with the arms extended, the bat level and my head down looking at the ball.  Beautiful form.  Of course, I don't know if I actually hit the ball or totally missed it when that picture was taken.  The special part of that picture though is not the perfect swing of the bat by me, but rather squatting behind me, trusting me not to bash in his head with the bat, is my father.  He is also in perfect form, just as he had taught my little brother to do when he was catching.  Glove is stretched out towards the plate, the ungloved hand is fisted, and his head is tilted down a bit with his eye spot on the ball.  It was just a moment in time but as I look back all those years ago, what a special moment it was. A dad and his son, playing the great American game on a dusty dirty ball field in the middle of a pasture.

That picture was taken so many years ago.  If I was fourteen or so, dad would have been early forties.  Could it really have been forty five or fifty years ago that picture was taken?  It is times like that when you realize how fast time does go by.

So what have I learned as time continues to speed up?  Time is so very precious.  Time is wasted all too easily.  People I have loved for a lifetime are gone and all I have are memories of the time spent with them.  Grandparents, Uncles. Aunts, Siblings, Cousins, Nieces and Nephews are special people.  They are family and one of the most important commodities we have in our lives are our families. Friends, close friends are the same way.  Some friends are so close and you have spent so many years being friends that they are just as important as family.  They pass away eventually and once they are gone, you are out of time to let them know how important they are to you.  We shouldn't think that we have an eternity to let them know because although time is infinite, time in the form of life is very short and finite.

Time will go by fast.  That is a given.  The trick is to take advantage of that time.

A SHORT CHAT WITH MYSELF

This is an example of how my brain races around.  Most of how I talk to myself isn't the truth, just how my mind sees things.  Not looking for comments or anything on this.  This is more of a mental excersize for myself.  It is a way for me to clear my head, reset my thinking process to be based more on reality than what my mind sees.  It is simply an intimate look inside my mind.  This is not going to be easy to share things like this, it is going to be very difficult.  It will probably jump around a lot and will take more than my usual time to write.  This is just something I feel I need to do for myself, although I can't explain why.  Be patient.  Don't feel sorry for me or disgusted with me.  This is just part of who I am.

:  Hey ... hey you...

: Me?  Oh, it's you .... What do you want?

: What are you doing?

: Just thinking.  Over thinking.  I do that a lot.

: What about?

: Just things.  Life.  Trying to figure things out.  I am tired.  Tired of everything.

: Everything?  Like what?

: I don't know... Just everything.  Sometimes I just don't want to get up in the morning.  Wish I could just lay in bed and listen to music... Tired of trying to prove myself, my worth.  Just tired.

: Tired of even life itself?

: Especially life.  It always seems to come back to life.  I guess that is because life encompasses everything else.  Everything is part of life.  Tired of being tired.  You know, when I was younger I was sure I wouldn't live past thirty... now I am over sixty.  And the things is that I know so many people who have died way to young ... Sincerely wish I could take their place...

:  Yeah... I am guessing you are talking about Rachel, Bink and Alesia and other people ..

: Just kids.  They were just kids and had so much to offer.  Seems like, well seems like if I could take their place it would be a little more fair.  Life isn't fair.  It isn't right.  And the thing is, those kids had a lot more to offer the world than I ever do, or have.. or whatever.

:  But that isn't up to you, to decide things like that.  You aren't in charge of life.  Yours or anyone elses.

: Could be in control of my life though ...

: Probably but that wouldn't help those kids.  There isn't anything you can do about some things.

: Wish I could.  And then, well I miss people.  Special people ... Like my grandmothers and my grandfather... my sister .... my uncles ....my aunts.... Miss them so much.

:  You believe in God?

: yeah I do .. and I believe in an afterlife.  I think I do anyway.  I HAVE to believe in an afterlife.  I was raised that way and I do believe in that.  Not sure what it will be like, but I hope that I will be able to recognize the spirits of them so I can be with them again.  Not sure if that is how it works or not ...

: Pretty sure they won't be in the form that you knew them as here on earth.

: Yeah probably not ... but if I can just communicate with them somehow.  Learned so much from them ..

: Well I doubt if you will learn anything from them in the afterlife.  You'll know everything that is really important just as they do now.  communicating will be on a totally different level.

: Never thought of it like that ... you could be right ... still miss them though.

: What else you thinking about?

: I don't know.  Like I said it all rolls back around to life in the end. ........................ Sometimes, I feel so alone.  I feel ...

: Come on.  You know better than that. You are far from alone.

: Yeah I know that, deep down I know that .. it is just a feeling.  I think ... I think that feeling alone is because no one knows me... not really.  No one understands me ... I mean it isn't their fault, it is mine.  I don't let people know me.

: You got that right.  You do a great job of hiding who you are.

: Don't mean to ... maybe I am just afraid of letting someone see me.. know me.  Kind of scary.

: Why is it scary?  You're a nice guy.  That's what people say anyway.  AND... and they say your smart too ... with a great sense of humor.

: yeah, well ..That is just further proof that they don't know me.  I can be not nice at all.  I have hurt a lot of people .. not on purpose, just the way I am .. and smart?  very average. VERY average.  Sense of humor... that is just a show ...  Most times I would be better off keeping my mouth shut instead of faking that sense of humor.

: You call it wearing a mask.

:  I do... and it is.  you know it isn't an easy thing to do, wearing that mask all the time ... very tiresome .. and that brings us back to life in general.  Just tired.

:  you are just feeling sorry for yourself.  you need to stop doing that.

: I know ... I know....  I just think I see me as me ..  I know me better than anyone.

:  Yes you do .. and since you do, you are better equipped to change your thinking and being tired and stuff and turn it around.  Start seeing things as they are.. as they really are.

:  I think I do see things as they really are .. really do.  I mess up so much even when I really try not to mess up...

: well you better get untired of things... you probably have a long time to go yet ... you DO plan on keeping on going, right?

:  yeah I do .. Really don't have a choice on that.  still, it really wouldn't bother me, you know if I ...

: if you died?

: yeah, if I died.  Life just seems... well it seems like this is it.  I have peaked at life.  Nothing is going to change ... just live out my days .. day after day.. nothing changing... nothing getting better .... nothing getting worse... just kind of a flat line...

:  wait . you aren't going back to that "just Bill" thing are you

:  well, yeah I guess I am.  I think that most people see me as that .. as "just Bill" ... been that way my entire life it seems ...

:  They say that you are wrong about that ...

:  No they don't .. They don't even know about "Just Bill"

:  You are more than Just Bill to all those people you are thinking about .. you know that, deep down you know that.

:  Maybe ... but it just feels like that a lot.

:  Still talking to Grandpa?  in your thoughts and dreams?

:  yeah... probably always will ... in dreams.. and day dreams.  Matter of fact, talking to him is a lot like talking to you actually...

:  He was a wise man..

:  yeah he was.  very wise ... he never knew how much he helped me along ....

:  You never told him .. but I'll let you in on a secret...

:  What's that?

:  He knew.  He could tell you were listening to him ...

:  Probably... but he didn't know how I held on to his words.

:  Yes he did.   You need to remember this .. he had a lot of kids and a LOT of grandkids and he loved each one the same .. he tutored everyone of you in life.  Now you all didn't come away with the same things but you all got that gift of his wisdom.  Every one of you.   Tell me.. just think .. what was the most important thing you got from him?  and wisdom doesn't count as an answer .. something more personal...

:  hmmm... that's a tough one.  I learned so much from him ... be gracious and spiritual, be a friend to your fellow man ...  never judge someone or be judgmental ... I have a tough time with that one sometimes.... hmmm.....you never stop learning... hmm that would be it I guess... the day he taught me "never be positive about anything"... yeah, that's the one that I probably carry with me very close...

:  "Never be positive" .. that is good.  so let's see ..."NEVER BE POSITIVE" ... he mean that as the opposite of being negative?

:  no.. had nothing to do with that ...had to do more with never be so sure of yourself to think you can't be wrong ... listen to other ideas and thoughts... learn from it and realize that there is some worth to all ideas and thoughts if you listen close enough... and that no matter how sure you are of something, there is someone out there who can prove you wrong or have a different better idea than the one that you are so positive about.... that was the lesson that day.

:  wow ... quite a lesson.  simple idea but ... you know, sometimes the simple things are the hardest to see... and to learn...

:  yeah, that's true .. that is true a lot of times...

:  Tell you what .. take this idea of "just Bill" and apply the positive test to it ... are you positive that people see you as "just Bill"?

:  initial answer?  definitely yes ... no doubt about it ... but

:  But when you put the never be positive test to it... kind of fades away... right?

:  I guess so... well it has to doesn't it...

:  Seems to me like it would ... I am guessing the same result would come from you saying you are tired of life... or that life has flat lined ... you sounded pretty positive about all of that...

:  I guess so ..... but it does seem like that..

:  "SEEMS like that" .. doesn't mean it is like that .. unless of course you're positive that it is... you positive that it is?

:  To be honest .. totally honest, I am really not sure about anything anymore .... all I know is it feels like I just drag myself through every day ... day to day ... constantly....

:  Tell you what .. I am going to leave you alone for while so you can ponder on that ... on if life is constantly changing or not and it can change for the good ... I'll catch up with you later.. okay?

:  yeah .. okay .. got a lot to think about I guess...

:  Yes you do

:  Can I ask you something?

:  Sure.. what?

:  we have had this talk before haven't we..

:  LOTS of times ... and we will again I am sure... not positive... but pretty sure...  now think

:  okay .. I'll think some more... thanks

:  no problem... see you later. ... "just Bill"

:  funny ... good bye for now I guess.

THE SILENCE OF DEATH

When someone you love dies, silence follows immediately.  Whether it is a close friend that you love, a family member, or even a celebrity that you have enjoyed their talents, the silence follows.  I don't think we realize this at first, no matter how many times we may have experienced it, but after a time of reflection it sinks in.

We are lucky if we remember the last time with the deceased before the silence fell.  I can't remember the last things I heard either of my grandmothers say before they passed and I feel like I should.   People who are as important to my life, the influence they had on my life, I should be able to remember.  I want to remember.  I can still hear their voices in my head.  My grandmother Clark's slight little laugh and her "Oh My!!".  I will never hear that again.  I will never hear my Grandmother Hill's seemingly daily expression of "Oh, Oscar!" again.

I do remember some of my family and friends last conversation with me though, and I cherish those.

My sister Carol, on the day she and my sister Elaine left for Georgia, I remember Carol telling me "I'm going back home and we are going to beat this thing"  After I told her I loved her she said with a tilt of her head, "I love you too.  Thanks for your help.  Bye... see ya later"  I didn't see her later.  I didn't hear her voice again.  I won't ever hear her voice again.  Just silence.

I went to see my Uncle Melvin in the hospital a few weeks before he passed.  We had a talk that wasn't too long.  He was tired.  He took the time, maybe five minutes or so, to talk to me though as he held my hand.  I told him I loved him and he smiled and said "I love you too Bill."  Then I told him I was going to miss him and he kind of looked straight through me, to my soul and said very matter of factly "I am going to miss you too .... for a while".  Nothing was left to be said.  I couldn't muster up any more words, any that were there were caught in my throat.  I squeezed his hand and left the room.  A few weeks later I got a call from my mom.  The silence had fallen on my Uncle.

I was with the whole extended family at my Grandfather Hill's house the last time I saw him.  I spent a lot of time talking to him as I sat in my spot on the couch next to his chair.  There wasn't any political talk that night.  There wasn't any philosophizing that night.  There was just talk.  Talk about what a great family this was.  Talk and joking about things that were going on around us.  Bringing in other family members into the conversation. as everyone rotated in to talk to him and everyone did.  I don't mean to say I was with him the whole time, I wasn't but I took my turn in the rotation to spend time with him.  He always had time for anyone and everyone.  Eventually It came time for me to head home.  I took his hand and told him that I had to be heading out.  He looked me straight in the eye as was his custom (he always looked whoever he was talking to in the eye.. and he taught all of us to do the same) and he said "Okay Bill.  You take care.  Bye now." and I turned and left.  This time, the news of the silence falling arrived in the form of a knock on my door in the middle of the night.  It was my mom and dad to tell me he was gone.  I can't say I was stunned or anything.  I was kind of expecting this to happen before long.  Still it did catch me off guard a bit and I had to go to my room for a minute or so to be by myself before coming back to talk to mom.  I learned a lot of little quips from that man like "Now you're railroading" that I still use to this day and each time I say one of those things I picked from him, I can almost hear his voice echoing mine as the words come out.  As I sat next to my grandmother at the funeral home, I could not take my eyes off of the body in the casket.  I would never hear that wise old voice again.  The silence had fallen.

Then there was my Uncle Danial.  Since he had moved back to Kansas City from the Seattle area, we had become so very close.  We worked on his art together.  We discussed every art form there was, from writing to music to paining to sculpture even to the beauty of a well thrown pass in a football game was an art form to him.  He had AIDS and so there were a few health problems that came along with that.  With the help of family members we were able to keep on top of everything and he was able to remain active and sharp and continue to do the things he loved.  Then one day we found out he had cancer.  At first he was determined and the family pulled together again and made sure he made appointments, took medicine and spent time at the radiology treatment at KU-Med.  Then came the day that I went to take him to KU for his treatment and he said he wasn't going.  It was taking too much of a toll on him and his body.  He had decided he would rather spend his remaining days living life as best as he could instead of feeling the side effects of the treatment all the time.  He took fifty dollars out of his wallet and told me to go by three cartons of smokes.  No sense in quitting now he had said and so I did as I was told.  This was when I truly found out how much of an effect he had made on people during his lifetime.  Friends from Chicago and Seattle came to help out in taking care of him.  Friends from his high School  class helped out.  The family pulled together of course and we took care of him.  We took him to the Kansas City Men's Chorus Christmas concert, which had become a tradition for all of us.  We took him to a couple of plays, which he loved.  We spent nights ... I mean all nighters talking and reading.  As his health worsened, we got a hospital bed to put in his living room for him.  His last Christmas was filled with family and friends for a big tree trimming party.  His friends and neighbors, Rick and Dan, catered a dinner for the party that night.  What a joyous evening it was.  He slowly weakened and soon the pain became almost a constant for him.  A nurse from the hospice house began coming by once a week to check on him and to be sure he had medicine to ease the pain.  His mind began to lose track of things and soon it seemed like I was the only one he would be totally honest with about how he was feeling, even though mom and dad, my Aunt June and Uncle Jack, cousins Pete and Susie and my wife were always by his side.  I stopped by his house after work one afternoon and he was in a lot of pain.  The hospice nurse was there but he was having nothing to do with her.  She gave me the medicine that would ease his pain and I tried to give it to him.  He asked "What is this?"  I told him it was okay, this was going to help with the pain.  He looked at me and said "You're lying to me."  I smiled and said that I wasn't, this would help.  Then he said the last words from his mouth to me. "Yeah... well ..." and he took the medicine.  The next morning I got a call at the office saying I had to be there now.  I got to his house and he was doubled over in his bed.  His friend Brian was there, helpless.  My mom was there and the hospice nurse was there.  The nurse told my mom and myself that a decision had to be made.  Mom looked at me and I looked at my uncle.  We made the decision to take him to the hospice house where they could control the pain easier.  He lasted almost a week in hospice without ever falling asleep.  He was gasping for air and breathing hard the whole time.  One night, I guess it was around two in the morning, the hospice nurse on duty came out of his room and I asked her what had been on my mind all that day, that was if he knew I was even there.  She looked at me and smiled "Oh he knows.  He knows" and she went about her work.  The next morning I went to get something to eat in the lobby of the house.  I noticed a piano there.  Now you got to understand that I NEVER play the piano in front of anyone.  It raises my anxiety level to the extreme.  Dan had asked me many times over the years to play for him but I never did.  That morning though, I asked the nurse at the desk if I could play a song or two and she encouraged me to do so.  I played a couple of hymns then got up and went back to my uncle's room.  As I was sponging his lips with water I told him about the piano and that I had played a couple of songs for him.  His eyes widened a bit and though he could not talk I heard what his eyes said.  Those eyes said "Thank you".  He died the next night.  The silence had fallen again but in this case, his eyes had said those precious last words to me.  "Thank you".

Lastly, one of my best friends went silent.  I was not prepared for this.  Dennis and I had worked together for many years.  After he left the company, we kept in constant touch.  We went to races together.  We went out to eat a lot together.  He became an uncle to my son and a very good friend to my nephew.  He went to Thanksgiving with us to my sister's house in Alabama one year.  It seems like my whole adult life was spent with Dennis.  He eventually moved to Mississippi but we kept in constant communication almost on a daily basis.  Aside from my mom and dad, brother and sisters and my niece Kelly Lynn, his birthday was the only other one I could ever remember and that was because he shared his birthday with Elvis.  I would call him to tell him happy birthday and he would always reply, every year with "thank ya... thank ya very much..".  Last February, a few weeks after his birthday, I got an email from one of his friends down south.  He had left a list of people to contact just in case.  He had passed suddenly from heart failure.  The last thing he said to me was "okay... catch you later".  That was three days before the email arrived.  The silence had descended on my friend.  I will never hear "Thank ya... Thank ya very much.." from him again.

There is an upside to the silence of death though.  The upside comes with hearing new voices that with time replace the ones gone silent.  Mei, Joshua, Hayden, Conner,  Samantha and Jesse.  Emmet and Will, Andrew and Abbey and Mags and Heidi's Oscar. Jayden, Talia, and Kiki and even though I have never met her, I hear Georgia on Facebook all the time and she has a WONDERFUL giggle. New voices that are so fun to hear.

The other upside comes when the silence of death falls on me.  No longer will I hear those last words of those that I loved and miss them so much it hurts at times.  Then there is the upside for everyone else.  No longer will you have to put up with my sarcastic sayings, my dry sense of humor, or my passionate positions on political issues.  There will be no more wondering how I am doing with my mental issues. No longer will people stop when something is said and wonder "oh no, what is going to come out of Bill's mouth on this?"  The one thing that I hope for and I am very sincere in this, is that when the silence falls on me, my last words that are remembered are nice and pleasant, hopefully with a little of that dark sense of humor mixed in.  I don't know when that will be.  Dennis taught me that lesson.  We just never know.

I am going to try very hard, just in case, not to talk mean or treat anyone mean as I age.  I am going to try my best to leave everyone with at least a fond "good-bye".

THE ART OF DEBATE

Full disclosure to begin things.  I have never been a member of a debate team.  I have never participated in a formal debate.  I have never read a book on debate techniques.  My whole debate experience has been with friends, friends of friends, and family members.

Okay, so there are my credentials on this subject.  Absolute zero.  So with that in mind, here's my thoughts on what I have learned over the years.

There basically just two rules to be able to debate at least to a point where you can pull a good debate off.

First you have to know what you, yourself, believe.  You have to know what your philosophy is and how to talk about it.  This may sound easy but it isn't.  If you are human, your philosophy continues to change as you progress in life and it is important to revisit your thoughts every once in a great while so you don't get yourself confused.  Most time when I revisit my philosophy, it takes at least a week to feel comfortable with where I am at and make adjustments in my thinking.

Secondly, you have to know what your opponent believes and what the basics of their philosophy is.  This isn't easy either.  If someone were to look at my library, they would think I am nuts.  I have read the "Communist Manifesto".  I bought my own copy of Mao Tse Tung's little red book when I was young.  I have read the Ku Klux Klan writings of Ben Klassey as well as Mein Kampf.  I have read books on different religions and different philosophies.  I have watched debates, mostly debates of William F. Buckley debating whoever wanted to take him on.  I have read or watched the speeches of Adlai Stevenson, Richard Nixon, Ronald Reagan, Harry Truman, John Kennedy and Barack Obama.  I have listened to Martin Luther King, Jr, Malcolm X, Ayn Rand as well as the classic philosophers. I have read writings and histories from our founding fathers including the Federalist papers.  Every American should be required to read the Federalist papers I think, along with the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution of the United States.

I learned this lesson one afternoon from my grandfather.  I know I have written about this particular afternoon before because it was really a light bulb in my head going off.  I grew up with a conservative bent on my think.  I am not sure how that happened, but I did.  The whole extended family was very liberal except for myself and my cousin Jerry.  My grandfather was a Roosevelt liberal, an union organizer and president.  He was liberal from domestic policy on through foreign policy.  He use to enjoy talking politics if there wasn't anything else to talk about, i.e. football or baseball.  Grandpa was sharp.  He knew his own thinking and was able to express it very well.

He also knew what to expect me to say and he was always ready with any argument I might come up with and on this particular day, It dawned on me.  I use to visit grandma and grandpa a few times a week.  On a daily basis, grandpa would study the news paper and watch Walter Cronkite.  He knew what the Republicans were saying and he definitely knew what the Democrats were saying.  While he was reading the paper, if an article or editorial caught his imagination, he would clip it and put it in the pocket of his chair.  He would use these clips to remind him of something that he wanted to talk about.  On THE day, I showed up and sat on the couch next to his chair.  He whipped out a newspaper clipping and, I will never forget this, the sound of his voice, he said "Here, read what your buddy Pat Buchanan wrote." and then he sat there and watched me as aI read it.  When I was done I handed it back to him and he asked "Well?, What do you think?"  And as I thought about how to answer him, I looked at him.  He had a sparkle in his eye.  He had me and he knew it and that was when the light bulb came on.  The old man KNOWS what I am going to say!  Why bother?  I had been beat before I even started.

That was the day I figured out the key to debate.  Know what you think, and know how your opponent is going to respond.  It was shortly after that when I began reading about things I didn't really understand.  Most of my reading in my teens up until today is about history and what other points of views that there are out there and I noticed that even if the old man and my uncles were still whipping up on me, at least I could carry on a debate for more than a second or two.

The third part of making a good debate is the toughest one to accomplish.  To make a debate worthwhile instead of just a yelling match, There has to be some listening going on while the other side is making their case.  In entering a debate you have to keep yourself firm in your own thinking while at the same time be willing to listen with an open mind and be able to accept a different idea from your opponent.  This makes your philosophy more complete, makes your thinking clearer.  You must be prepared to make subtle or even large changes in your philosophy.  It is important to realize that you can always learn something new from somebody else.

I am not very good at this third part.  I think I use to be pretty good at it but as I have aged, I think that my thinking has become kind of set in concrete and not willing to change.  Instead of actually listening to an opposing point of view, my mind seems to jump on parts of sentences, take statements out of context and convince myself as to how little logic is being told me.  It is a problem and one that I try to work on, but really I don't succeed much in it.  Friends on social media will verify that about me.  Then again, there are times when I think they don't listen either and when you have two opposing viewpoints with neither side listening, it turns into an excersize as though you both are spinning your wheels on an icy patch of road with dry land just to either side of that ice.  Both sides get frustrated and to restart from before the debate and move on as if it never happened.  That seldom happens either.  Too often we hold on to what someone said and don't let them forget it and soon, what once was a friendship becomes a mind game that never ends.

Right now this country is a mess.  I don't think you can blame it on the current administration or the previous one.  It seems to be an over all society that has hardened the wills and the thinking of those that hold them.  Right now, I think, this country has forgotten how to listen to each other.  Without listening there can be no end to the debate that is raging.  Without each philosophy taking a little from the other and giving a little, things start to spinning terribly out of control and our society is hurt by it.  Our country is hurt by it and when the United States is in a war of words with ourselves, it effects the rest of the world.  This isn't the first time our country was deeply divided, but it seems like it is the deepest divide we have had since the American Civil War.  The art of debate has been lost and has turned into a huge power struggle.

This country needs to come together even if it is just a tiny bit.  We need to start listening to each other.  We need to strive to understand different ideas and thinking.  We need to bring this great social debate that we find ourselves in toward an understanding that can bring respect from each of us to each of us.  Everyone has their own thoughts, that is a truth as old as mankind has been discussing ideas.  That is a given.  You don't have to agree with a person to have respect for them.  Only with a mutual respect that a vibrant debate can bring out in people can this country continue to grow and to lead the world.

I don't know about you, but that is what I want for this country.  I want it to be strong.  I want our allies to follow our lead.  I want our enemies to respect us enough to be able to come to the table and work things out so everyone is safer in the world.

That is what The United States is supposed to be.

GRANDSON OF OLD RED

Many many years ago, I recorded in words the legacy and the legend of Old Red.  I have since lost that writing before I began this blog, but the memory of this fantastic animal has never left my mind.  Old Red was a racer, a runner who went from the old tree in our front yard, leap to the rooftop of the house, run over the crest of the house down to the telephone wire and then race to the telephone pole and retrace the route back to the old tree in the front yard.  He was a well known for more than his speed though.  He was the caregiver of the squirrel community on Marsh Avenue.  He helped out the whole of the squirrel community and was a leader of the group. Old Red, and the tree he use to race from in my front yard have both been gone for quite a while now.

Last summer, as I was watching the various families of squirrels go about their business, I noticed a new squirrel sprinting around from tree to tree.  He was small compared to the other squirrels that went about their daily chores on the street but one thing caught my eye.  He was mostly gray like most squirrels in western Missouri, but his tail was what caught my eye.  It was red.  The whole of the tail was red and not just any shade of red but a red that I recalled from many years ago.  It was the same hue of red as Old Red's whole body had been.

I thought of that color of red and remembered Old Red as I watched this little guy scamper about all over the place.  He was a little reckless in crossing the street, seldom checking for cars that might be heading in his direction.  After a few days of watching him I decided to go and ask the question that was burning in my mind.

It was a nice quiet Saturday morning when he recklessly crossed the street to land in my front yard.  I stood up and started to walk towards him.  It didn't take him long to notice me and he stood proudly up erect on his hind legs, and while putting his front paws together gave me the deadliest stare he could muster.  He shook his tail a bit hoping to warn me off.

"Hey" I said cheerfully with a wave of my hand

"What?!?"  His voice was loud, stern, high pitched and squeaky.  "What do you want?  I am not bothering you, you know.  I got a right to be here or didn't you read the VERY VERY small print in the contract when you bought this so called house?"

"What small print?" I asked with a smile trying not to laugh at him directly.

"The small print that says that ANY wild life NOT being kept as a pet, such as dogs and so forth, have the right to roam anywhere on this land that they want to.  THAT small print!"

With this he dropped his front paws down and placed them on his hips, tilted his head and resumed his menacing stare at me with his tail still shaking.

"Nah, I don't bother with small print.  Can't see small print well enough to read it", I smiled at him at he let out a deep irritated sigh. "So, what's your name?", I asked.

He looked at me with a questioning expression trying to figure out if he wanted to waste time with me.  Finally he decided that being friends with the land owner could come in handy in the future. His voice dropped in pitched and became less of a squeak as he realized I meant no harm.

"Well, my name is Redtail" he said as he raised his arm and pointed with his thumb over his shoulder toward his backside. "That's my name anyway but they don't call me Redtail.  They call me Red runt"

His head drop a bit and his shoulders slumped a bit with this revelation.  He lifted his head slowly and looked past me into space as he thought about the nick name he had been laden with.

He sighed a bit and looking at me revealed something else.

"Of course I suppose it could be a little worse.  They called my dad 'Reddy Mix' because he had small splotches of red all over his body.  Almost looked like a rash.  Dad taught me how to deal with having a not so good nick name.  I deal with it."

"Your dad was Reddy Mix?" I asked with recognition.  "Wow, you had a great dad.  I use to watch him scamper around here all the time."  I watched for a reaction for Redtail and only got a shrug of the shoulders.

"Yeah, dad was okay.  He didn't do much, not like grandpa anyway.  Grandpa was a great squirrel, he was one of the great squirrel racers in history!" he exclaimed as his chest puffed up just a little.  "I never knew grandpa though.  He died in some sort of accident.  They never told me what happened."

"Your grandpa.  I knew him.  He was indeed a great one and a great racer.  I saw him race lots of times."  I said respectfully thinking back to that last day that his grandpa had raced.

"You knew my grandpa?"  Redtail's eyes widened and his posture straightened up in excitement.  "You knew Old Red?  You saw him race?  Please, oh please tell me a little about Old Red.  Please?"

I looked at young Redtail, looked at his eyes and the excitement in them and decided it was time he learned a little about Old Red.

I began slowly and thoughtfully.

"Your grandpa.  Well, they told you right, He spent most of his time racing other squirrels.  He was fast.  Very fast.  Probably the fastest squirrel on the block at the time."

I took a seat on my porch and lit a cigarette taking my time before continuing.  Redtail's eyes never left my face as I began to continue.

"Old Red, I like to think, was a friend of mine.  As close of a friend as a squirrel and human can be anyway.  I use to sit right here on a lot of Saturdays watching the races which your grandfather never missed as far as I can remember.  You see the old track use to be right here in my front yard.  There use to be a big tree out there in the yard and they would race towards the roof of the house, leap onto the house, run over to the back of the house and run on the line that goes out to that pole in the back.  Once they touched the pole they raced back across the line, over the house then leap back to the tree grabbing at limb to pull them selves up and race back to the main trunk.  Your grand dad was one of the best at that.  My tree was where Old Red ran his last race.  I was out here that day.  I saw that last race of his and he was faster than he had ever been.  You see, earlier in the day a younger squirrel, a newcomer to the races had broke your grandpa's record for running the course.  Your grandpa's last race was an attempt to get that record back and he almost did just that."

I stopped and paused, thinking back in my mind to that day.  Eventually I woke out of my daydream to find Redtail still staring at me, waiting for more information.

"Yes sir, he almost got that record back, but he...." and I found myself grow quiet as I the vision of what had occurred that day filled my head.

"But?" asked Redtail wanting to know why his grandfather had not broken the record.

I started out slowly and quietly, almost reverently,  "Well, Old Red made a mistake.  He took a risk to try to shave off a little more time for the record.  He was on the last leg of the course, coming down the roof heading for the tree.  He left the roof just a little bit early in his leap for the limbs on the tree.  I knew as soon as he left the roof that it was too soon to jump.  I think he knew it as well.  He stretched out as far as he could and grabbed and caught one of the smallest limbs out there.  He grabbed it with both hands and held on with everything he could.  The, uh... well the limb bent down with his weight.  Once it bent as far as it could, it snapped upwards, taking your grandpa with it.  He held on tight and I honestly felt that he had done it.  I knew the limb would snap back down again but I figured once that had happened, he would be off to the trunk of the tree.  But..." and here I choked up a bit but pushed on with the story, "the limb snapped back down hard.  Your grandpa couldn't hold on and he lost his grip.  He was thrown to the ground.  I sat here and looked at him.  He wasn't moving.  Soon the squirrel community came down to him to check him over.  The fall took your grandpa's life Redtail.   It... umm... it... well it broke his neck kid.  He didn't feel a thing.

I stopped and looked at Redtail.  He was slouched down a little and was wiping his eyes of the tears that had begun to flow.  He slowly looked back up at me and I read in his eyes that he wanted me to go on.

"You know, Redtail, Your grandpa was a very strong squirrel.  That limb had a hell of a snap to it to be able to throw your grandpa loose and to the ground.  The community took your grandpa away to his nest where they laid him down so other squirrels could come and pay respects.  Three days.  Three days he laid in that nest and the line of squirrels continued to come to see him and tell him goodbye.  Then after the three days they took him over to the brush by the lake and laid him down with all of the squirrels that had gone before him.  He was a very respected squirrel Redtail.  You should be proud that he was your grandpa."

Redtail and myself sat there quietly thinking about the story I had just told.  Eventually Redtail climb up on my knee and stared out into the yard where the tree had once stood.

I started talking quietly again to the small squirrel.  "That tree came down during a winter storm several years ago.  It was a sad day not only for me but for the squirrel community as well.  Thousands of races had been run on that tree.  Your grandpa ran well over a hundred races and held the record most of the time that he was racing.  When the tree came down, the record did not have his name attached to it though.  That is why they race at the new track over there," I said pointing next door to the big tree in that front yard.  "It is kind of a more dangerous track to run than the old track use to be."

Redtail looked at the new track and nodded his head.  Eventually his head returned to where the old tree had once stood.

"Can you read? I asked Redtail seriously.

"Of course not, not human writing anyway.  I'm just a little squirrel, remember?"

"Come walk with me.  I got something to show you." I said as I stood up and began walking into the yard where the tree use to be.  I looked down to be sure Redtail was following me into the grass.  We walked down to the water meter that lay in the yard next to where the old tree use to be.  When we got there Redtail looked at the big metal disk with human letters on it.

"What does it say? Is it about grandpa?" he asked inquisitively.

"Well let's see,"  I said and I squatted down to clear some grass off of the top of the old water meter.

I began to "read" the water meter for Redtail making up the words as I went along.

"Here once stood a great tree that was used as the main race path for generations of squirrels.  Many great squirrels ran this tree but there was one that stood above the rest.  It was on this site where the famous racer Old Red ran his first and last race.  He was the greatest of all the racers who ever ran here.  He will forever be remembered for his kindness, thoughtfulness, strength and courage.  May the name of Old Red never be forgotten."

I felt a small tug on the leg of my jeans and looked down to see Redtail hold onto me as he stared at the meter.  He then got down on all fours and walked onto the metal plate and ran his claws over the letters embossed upon it.

I decided to leave Redtail alone with his thoughts and walked back to the porch and sat, watching him contemplate what he had just learned.  After awhile I watched Redtail turn around and look at me before starting to slowly head back to me and the porch.

He arrived at the porch and climbed back up on my knee, laying his head down with his eyes staring out into the yard.

"Thank you" Redtail said.  "Thank you so very much"

We sat on the porch together until the sun set and it began to get dark around us.  He climbed off of my knee and looked at me with a new awareness of where he had come from.

"I'll see you around." he said as he turned and headed off into the night air to his nest.

I have seen him a lot since that day and when I do see him, he shakes his tail at me, smiles and gives me a little wave.  No doubt he will pass the tale of Old Red to his offspring and grandchildren and the name of Old Red will never be forgotten, at least not in the squirrel community.

THE IMPORTANCE OF GOODBYE

I have been haunted as of late by Leonard Cohen's last album before he passed away.  Cohen had a special following of fans, some of them didn't even know they were fans.  Cohen's songs were covered by many other artists who got a lot of airplay for their interpretation of his songs.  The most recent group to hit it big thanks to Leonard Cohen was a group called Pentatonix, who recorded Cohen's "Hallelujah" on their Christmas album last year even though the song has absolutely nothing to do with Christmas.  It is kind of like a group of Christian teens who decided to sing George Harrison's "My Sweet Lord" in a Youth for Christ meeting when I was young teenager.  They decided not to do it once they realized that Harrison's "Sweet Lord" was the Hare Krishna, a far cry from their Lord that they thought they were going to praise that night.   See, this is why I always say "LISTEN TO THE LYRICS PEOPLE!".  There are a lot of songs out there that actually have some philosophical meaning if you stop to actually listen to what the writer is trying to say.

Leonard Cohen's songs were like that.  His writing was usually dark and foreboding.  He seemed to always slip in some religious themes in his songs and most of the time his songs wrapped around broken or lost love, lost loved ones and the poor future of our civilization that was to come.  At the same time he was penning these dark lyrics, he was putting them to beautiful melodies.

As Cohen aged into his eighties, he set out to write a set of songs that expressed what he was feeling as he became closer to facing his own death.  The album was titled "You Want It Darker" which was also the title of the first track on the album.  His health was failing as he finished writing the songs and he recorded it a few months before he did leave this earth.  He had to sit in a chair in his apartment, which was transformed into a small sound studio, to record his final verses.  In an interview about the yet to be released album Cohen said "I am ready to die.  I am not afraid".  Cohen held a strong faith in his Jewish heritage and leaned on that faith as death neared.

I have been a Leonard Cohen fan for many years.  His dark sense of humor seemed to match mine and his pessimistic outlook in the human race seemed to mirror mine as well.  His music made an impact on me that for the most part I kept to myself.  Me and Leonard.  His was the one music I really didn't share with others.  If I could write music, I would want it to be like his.  I kept his music so much to myself, that I am not sure even my wife knew who Leonard Cohen was when I informed her in my sadness that he had died.  I spent a couple of evenings with her playing some of Cohen's tunes on YOUTUBE for her.  A few of the songs she recognized from the covers that had been recorded.  It didn't take long for her to come to appreciate the talent that this man had.

"You Want It Darker" is by far his masterpiece.  The songs are honest, spiritual and looks into the dark of night with more clarity than any songwriter I have heard.  This album has a hold on me and I listen to it often.  The words speak to me and I feel like I understand them and therefore understand Cohen.  This album was Leonard Cohen telling the world "goodbye".  I am so glad he took the time to tell us that.

As I listen to these songs my mind wanders back to those who I have loved and have gone before me.  As I age I find this album bring to mind thoughts of not only my own demise, but how many more loved ones am I going to lose before I am gone myself and don't have to face that prospect anymore.

I go back to when my great grandmother Hill died.  I loved her, I really did.  She was a tough lady that had a rough life but she fought her way through all of the setbacks and lived a long good life.  However, and looking back I am not really proud of this, but the main thing I remember about my great grandmother's death is that her funeral was to be in Springfield, Missouri on a day when I had a date with Patty Mason to go to my first school dance, and I had to cancel out.  I look back and I miss her now.  I have a few of her things that I remember from my childhood and find good memories floating through my brain of spending time with her.  I never got to tell her goodbye though and at the time it didn't bother me that I didn't have that chance.  Actually it still does not bother me much to this day.

The last time I saw my grandfather Hill, I knew inside of myself that it would be the last time I saw him.  He was heading down to Alabama to spend time with my Aunt Sue and I knew that he would not be coming back.  That night as I left, I did tell him goodbye.  I gave him a small hug which is not normal for me and maybe he was thinking what that was all about.  He did pass away on that visit to Alabama and even though I was extremely broken by his death, I was able to hold on to the fact that I was able to tell him goodbye.

I love all my Aunts and Uncles from both the fraternal and the maternal side of my family.  I am greatly blessed to have them as part of my life.  My Uncle Melvin was attacked with cancer.  He spent a lot of time in the hospital and I kept up on his condition through reports from my mother.  Uncle Melvin was special, as all my Uncles were.  As I sensed his health worsening I decided to make a visit to him.  After some of the things he did for me, covertly I might add, I felt like I wanted to see him at least one more time.  As I entered the hospital room he was in, my cousins all greeted me very warmly and led me to where my Uncle lay.  He patted his bedside indicating for me to sit and so I did.  He took my hand and told me things were going to be okay.  We talked a bit about things and then I told him I was going to miss him.  He looked me square in the eye, as Hills are taught to do, and told me he would miss me too.  I told him I loved him and as I leaned over to give him a hug he quietly said that he loved me as well.  It was not long after that when he left this world that he loved so much.  I am so glad I decided to make that visit.  Those words from my Uncle helped me to help my grandpa the day of the funeral.

My Uncle Duane was another very special uncle.  Although he had moved away to Nebraska then Colorado and I didn't get to see him much, I have many fond memories of him.  He was one of the most gentle men I ever knew and he had a knack for talking to me and showing me things.  This is one that really hurts that I didn't get to say goodbye to.  I knew he was sick, very sick.  Life kept me from making a trip to Colorado to see him though.  That was the excuse I used anyway.  I was and still am not sure if I could have handled it seeing him before he passed.  I loved him so very much.  When he did die, I beat myself up for not taking time to drive out to Colorado to see him and my aunt and two cousins.  I am still beating myself up for that slip.  Then when I think about it, it would have been extremely rough on me and chances are he wouldn't know who I was anyway, which would make it hurt even more.  Maybe it is best for both of us that I didn't make that trip.  I just am not sure.

My Uncle Dan and Aunt June were also very special.  June was married to Dan's brother, my Uncle Jack.  When Dan got cancer, we made a bond that we would fight this thing together and we did.  I saw him everyday and my wife would spend the night at his house to take care of him.  During this time, my Aunt June was also very ill and it was obvious that she was getting worse.  In spite of that, she traveled with my Uncle Jack from St Louis to Kansas City every other weekend to help take care of Dan.  Every weekend when they headed back to St. Louis, I would give her a hug and tell her goodbye as I did with my Uncle Jack.  But my goodbyes to my Aunt June held a lot more meaning.  I wanted to be sure that she knew I appreciated and loved her and considered myself lucky to have her for an Aunt.  Dan's cancer eventually took him to the point of where I had to take him to the hospice house.  The pain he was in was at a point of being more than I could help him with.  I stayed in hospice with him for a week, never leaving him as I had promised.  Each time I left the room though, I would tell him goodbye and let him know I would be right back.  I was able to whisper an almost silent goodbye the night he died.  At his funeral, as I was leaving his house I made a special effort to be sure and tell my Aunt June goodbye.  There would be no more bi-weekly weekend visits from her now.  I am so glad I did tell her that.

Then there was my sister Carol.  Carol had come up to help me take care of mom and dad during the summer when she was diagnosed with cancer.  She was determined to fight it as hard as she could, if anything just so she could get back to Georgia where her home was and her grandkids.  The two of us, along with my faux sister Karen, decided that we would get her well enough to get back home.  We succeeded.  As she and my sister Elaine left to head back south, I was able to give Carol a huge hug a big I love you and a kiss on her forehead.  We each said we would see each other the next summer when she came back.  She never came back to Kansas City though.  The next spring the cancer returned and raced through Carol's body.  The goodbye I had with Carol was one I would not trade for the world.

Then there is the loved one passing that comes out of the blue, totally out of nowhere.  This happened to me last February when one of my friends died.  Dennis was healthy.  He took care of himself.  He ate right.  He was active.  He also had a damaged heart from a heart attack several years ago.  That heart quit working that day in February.  I had not told him good bye.  I didn't have the chance to.  We had planned on meeting up in Mississippi later on this spring when I was planning to visit Alabama.  I had talked to him the day after his birthday in January.  No goodbye.  We never said goodbye to each other.  It was always "Take it easy, see ya later".  With Den though, there wasn't a later.  He was here one day and the next day, just gone.

I didn't go through all of the goodbyes I said or didn't say.  I use these few as examples of how my mind works when dealing with these situations.

So now for today.  I am 60 now and in what I have come to realize is the "window of death".  It seems like once a person gets pass 60 years old, all bets are off.  My parents moved to Alabama last fall so that my sister could take care of them while I try to take care of my wife.  My brother is in South Dakota, my sister, as mentioned, is in Alabama as well as my Aunt Sue.  My aunt Eva is the closest on the Hill side living in Clinton, Missouri while my Uncle Jack still can't pull himself from St.Louis.  He likes it there for some odd reason.  Aunt Velma is in Colorado while my Aunt Fay is in western Kansas.  My Uncle Jim, well I think he is in Warrensburg, Missouri, not too far away.  I do still have my Aunt Norva and Uncle Dale living here in Kansas City but I do not get out to see them much.

The question that hits me as I listen to Leonard Cohen's last album goes like this.  "Is it better to say be able to say good bye to loved ones or easier not to."  I don't know.  I sincerely just don't know.

It kind of feels like my good byes may be finished no matter what the answer may be.

It is starting to get a little lonely around Kansas City.