I wrote a little over a month ago about visiting my father in Pennsylvania. Since then, so much has happened . . .Continue reading “I’m Okay (Trust Me)”
We all have little things we do to relax and unwind. Mine is listening to this Gershwin classic. Continue reading “Blue Rhapsody in Blue”
Yesterday was the anniversary of D-Day; the first in over a decade I didn’t sit around Mr. Tom’s kitchen table and listen to him reminisce about the events of those days, particularly about a few of the men lost from his ship. So, I remembered for him.
This weekend I actually went out in public. I didn’t want to, but everyone wanted to be somewhere other than here. I saw people I knew, who asked me “how are you doing” – – all well-meaning, I’m sure. Continue reading “Monday Morning Update”
I’m not one to give trigger warnings. That said, I’m giving one now.
Things have a tendency to not go as planned. Several weeks ago, a dear friend’s health declined rapidly – unexpectedly, even – and he passed away. Even after days of relative sleeplessness, I found it hard to rest. My thoughts kept turning and churning and refusing to let me be until I wrote them down. This is an exercise in catharsis.
Some of my readers knew F_____. One of my regular readers is his wife.
 For the record, I have permission and outright encouragement from the family to share this. [/edit]
If, after all that, you want to continue, click on to the next page.
Word of the Week certainly fits the mold of a regular feature.
Last week’s word was discovery. This week’s word is . . .
Late last week, my sister posted to my Facebook:
However, all is not lost. There are rumors the bakery will be bought – property, machines, expertise – and the tradition continue. In addition, I received a parcel:
I’m not as
desperate financially able as the woman who cleared out her freezer and ordered fifty dozen lebkuchen.
At ten dollars per dozen, that’s quite a bit of dough.
Then there’s the loss the world is talking about:
Sir Terry Pratchett
I doubt there’s anything I can say here that hasn’t been said elsewhere.
I have no story of how I met him or saw him or received an autographed book as a gift. Nevertheless, he influenced my life in ways few authors have. In those terms, he’s part of my Triad:
His books have been out since the early eighties, but I only discovered the Disc in 2008 or so with the Hogfather DVD American release. Having loved the film, I tracked down the book; looking back, it may not be the best introduction to Discworld, but I was hooked. Soon most extra money went to purchasing more of Pratchett’s works, and I found myself emotionally invested in Rincewind and Granny Weatherwax and Gythia Ogg and Havelock Vetinari and Sam Vines and Moist von Lipwig and DEATH.
As Iain Sutherland wrote on the change.org petition that DEATH return Sir Terry:
Terry Pratchett turned Death from a figure of hate into a much loved and sometimes welcomed character. No-one else cared about you Death.
You owe him!
I’ve never cried about the death of a celebrity or other public figure . . . until now.
And the more I thought about it, the more I realized I was crying not as much for Sir Terry, but for the end of the Disc.
Does that make me selfish?
I’ll never understand why I’m such a selfish man.
Sir Terry’s death also makes me angry.
Angry for the loss of literary wonder.
Angry at the Alzheimer’s that took him far too early.
Angry at the unfairness of it all.
Another petitioner on change.org wrote
It is like when you lose that relative who you didn’t know very well, but they helped you get through some really tough time and you always meant to call or write, and now it’s too late.
It’s times like these that make us wonder what makes it all worthwhile. Sir Terry had the answer:
“I meant," said Ipslore bitterly, "what is there in this world that truly makes living worthwhile?" Death thought about it. CATS, he said eventually. CATS ARE NICE.”
When it comes down to it, I just don’t know what to say. So I’ll read instead, savoring every line and turn of phrase and share the ones that speak to me. Because although Sir Terry is gone,
No one is actually dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away.
May Sir Terry’s ripples go on forever.