A few weeks off the blogging groove leaves an author such as I somewhat tongue-tied. There’s no shortage of current events to comment on, but who hasn’t heard enough already? Usually I’ll select at least one topic worth the effort to pen an essay about, however, I’m bent out of shape by our globe’s unsmiling affairs. Before now, I started writing early Monday morning; began last Friday afternoon, I’m already four days out of sync. No way this particular piece would’ve been ready last Sunday morning, my former posting date.
I don’t know, maybe it’s this crazy weather, just days ago most LA outdoor thermometers reached 105 suffocating degrees; practically overnight Autumn Equinox happened, what the heck? Enough crisp air filled the atmosphere we decided to reschedule LouLou’s fourteenth birthday celebration another five days until Anaheim hovers 90° again. Splash Mountain’s refreshing finale is always a welcome soak during Disneyland’s Indian summer midday heat.
On an ultra-personal note: the years are moving much too fast — one minute it was Easter, suddenly we’re planning a Thanksgiving menu. I can’t quite pin when life accelerated this rapidly. I guess there’s a chance it could slow down in years to come after drive met purpose and lengthy contemplation shall consume me. For the Warren Buffet and Donatella Versace types worldwide, reflective days may never arrive.
Which reminds me — this morning Jeanette and I were discussing life insurance policies and my inevitable lukewarm corpse. A casket deposited underground or within an austere mausoleum wall seems terribly wasteful. A Buddhist cremation I once felt acceptable, not any more. I’m giving all of me away in separate pieces. Not for Jeanette nor LouLou’s listening pleasure hearing my heart pulsate inside a stranger someday; it’s the satisfaction I’m having while alive knowing how much someone else may benefit by my closing curtain call.
There is, believe it or not, quite a lively cemetery not far from here — Hollywood Forever Cemetery hosts an annual Dia de los Muertos shindig; this 1899 burial site has more glitterati per square foot than any other place on earth. Many view this iconic Los Angeles destination as a museum of sorts. My cigar or pipe smoking, depending on the day, Uncle Tony offered frequent one liners, his easily rivaled Henny Youngman’s shtick. I haven’t driven past a cemetery without hearing Uncle Tony long ago jokingly say, “People are dying to get in there.”