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.
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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Who thought we'd be staring at the walls this long? If you're batty as Francesca and me, its time to take a walk. The fresh air, exercise, and Yard Game #5 will do you good.
There's a sign to tell you our battered gnomes aren't on the list (but one of them is next to
The world traveler took his last trip to an intensive care unit. How incredibly sad to think that someone who had so many admiring friends had to die -more or less- alone. Bobby was just a smiling sixteen year-old who happened to turn fifty last January. Heaven's a better place with him there.
