A WALKER NAMED ALICE

         Ten years ago I climbed the Eiffel Tower. Today our front steps seem daunting. I had foot surgery last week.

     When I woke up they gave me a walker, told me to skedaddle and admonished, "Don't put weight on that thing for two weeks!"

      Death scares he hell out of us and so do events leading up to it. Like needing a walker to get around. Joking about the reaper (and walkers) eases the inevitable.

      Once they were a source of dark humor.  I'd see them in Coconut Grove trash piles and wonder how they got there. When I brought one home in 1986 my wife complained. 

     I suggested, "Let's keep it for a week". Her ballet teacher, Tony, was turning forty which seemed old at the time. What better way to add laughter to his  party than giving him a ribbon-festooned

geezer aid.

     It was a fun-filled gathering. If he was embarrassed Tony didn't show it. The nimble Italian  begged it for a dance which ended with a handstand (note: don't try that at home or anywhere else). 

 After the applause subsided he never touched it again. He left his gag gift with us.

      I folded the frame and set it aside until the next 40th birthday. We laughed at the inevitable once more. When the last of our friends hit the big 4-0 we gave Alice to Goodwill. 

     We had no use for it. We'd never need it and old jokes at 50 aren't funny.  It is old, retirement is on the horizon and Metamucil's in the medicine cabinet.

     This morning Francesca and and I were discussing the odd metal frame next to the bed and the birthday joke from the 80's. She pointed out, "Maybe you should have kept it around. When people turn 60 or 70 the tide turns again. You might hear, "Thanks.  I'll be needing this soon!". 

     Mine?  It's taking me to dinner tonight, forty-feet away.

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WHATTA YA DO WITH THOSE CAMPAIGN SIGNS?

       Isn't it incredible how plastic signs pop up before every election?  Do the candidates with the most win? 

Even more amazing is how they fill up our land-fills afterwards, zillions of them, probably enough to cover the moon a thousand times.

        These days I recycle them for the campaigns that follow. Here are two recent examples,

 

                                        

Get some paint.  Maybe we can start a trend.

"WHEN YOU READ THIS I'LL BE GONE"

           This week I received a short note from a suffering softball buddy, Roy Schwab.  He let me know he was ready to go. 

   Roy and I played on old-guys  teams in Miami and more recently, Gainesville. The West Miami native was always our best athlete.  Roy was fast as a gazelle, even at 75.  He once hit three homers in one game. Both humble and helpful, he never hesitated to give me much-needed playing tips. 

     The former college professor was loving his North Florida retirement. Last summer he moved up from Miami into the new house he helped design. Built on five-acres, it abounded with trees, fresh air, and stars above.  His two daughters came to visit along with his first grandchild, Elijah. Life was good. So were holidays, before the pain began.

      Six months ago he learned he had a deadly form of cancer. A week later the Coronavirus quarantine kept us from visiting him. Last month, knowing the end was near, he was able to fly to California to be with his kids. A few days ago his team mates got an email,

  I wanted to thank you and all the softballers for a wonderful experience with many fun times. Please remove me from your mailing lists. Today will be my last day on Planet Earth. I’m in California now where death with dignity is law. Take care, Roy.

It was a honor to be his friend.  I'm glad his suffering is over and he left on his own terms.  I hope somehow, some way, Roy and I can play catch again.

 

        Before yesterday's game we honored our departed team mate.

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       A similar thing happened years ago.

I met Bob Burns on the set of a cheap horror movie, "Demonoid", in 1980. While I was a gofer, he was was the film's art director, best known for his work on "Texas Chainsaw Massacre".  Bob also directed films and acted a bit. 

  

       In the early 80's his Santa Monica apartment was decorated from the props he created for the well-known slasher film. It was both creepy and cool.

 

     Years later (2004) I visited my semi-retired friend at his home in Seguin, Texas. This time, only a part of his house was a horror show. Much of it then was taken up by an impressive rock collection.  

   On my 2004 visit, with Bob, a neighbor, and the world's largest pecan.

 

    Bob demonstrated how he played spoons in a local band,"like a sonofabitch", he bragged. He seemed healthy enough but a few months later I got a  note from him saying,                                  

  "Thanks for being a friend....I'm with Elvis now".  

 

   Apparently after learning he had  terminal cancer, he went online to learn about a painless way to end his life. 

    

 

 

 

He mailed these notes to friends the day before died. 
Bob, the occasional actor, played his final scene flawlessly.

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