Wednesday, July 29, 2009

A big loss, bigger regret and just one final prank

Please pardon this off-beat post. This blog is supposed to be reserved for anything related to Blues, Brews and BBQ but I lost a real good friend this week and it just got me to thinking.

Art always had the right thing to say at the right time, and certainly made life just more enjoyable and eventful. It might have been just the way he cursed you out at loud volumes with a smile on his face for being a damned fool or how he would heckle mercilessly at all of the assorted miscreants for not being able to get a hit during any one of our assorted wiffle ball games. He also kept a very watchful eye out for us, making sure to keep an extra watchful eye out for The Boss while I was on the road.

When our sump pump line broke off the house it was Art to the rescue with a knock at the door explaining what he saw and the importance of fixing the issue ASAP….When my Dad was in the hospital with some serious medical issues it was Art who, concerned I was going to burn out, took me for lunch at “The Club”. We talked for hours on baseball, Georgetown, and the assumed responsibilities on putting down roots in a small community… beer and burgers never tasted so good and the long talk about anything and everything helped pull me back from the ledge (as it were).

From a distance Art’s final years where awful sad to witness. Art’s deterioration had started before we had the pleasure of meeting him, but it hit a rapid pace once he lost the love of his life and the mother of his children. To see a good man deteriorate, and then a son agonize over having to make alternative living arrangements for his father was a lot to witness, I can’t imagine going through any of it personally. I tried to get over to Art’s new home as much as I could, but things changed. I put off going to see Art always rationalizing how I could go over another afternoon/weekend….having driven by Harmony Cemetery last night I know there are no more chances to get on over to see Art at his new home. REGRET SUCKS. REGRET SUCKS AN AWFUL LOT.

Having lost two older folks who constantly illustrated just why every once of life should be squeezed out of every moment, I have been thinking about just how I would like my remains treated as I go into the afterlife. Instead of being buried and put down by a stone in which teens will probably smoke dope or make out behind, or be cremated and have my ashes sprinkled in amongst the vomit & urine of Bourbon or Beale St I have decided I would like to be catapulted. Catapulting a dead body may sound weird, but I have often been in awe over the simple but awesome architecture…..and just because I am technically “gone” don’t mean my remains shouldn’t play just one more practical joke on someone. I would take great consolation knowing my remains would either create a plot arc on CSI “Georgetown” or knowing one of my neighbors would constantly and forever be forced to look over their shoulders wondering just what was going to fall next from the sky.

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