I Chose Life

So, Oliver killed Komar and I lost my career and almost everything else. Sharon turned to me as we hugged under the covers, reporters gathered under our windows keeping me locked in my home, “…, you aren’t going to hurt yourself, are you?” No one else cared enough to ask.

Many probably wanted me to. People even wanted to kill me. Now, I don’t have anything I can do about not dying, except to live to experience it. But, I still choose life and will as long as Sharon keeps loving me.

Poor Spade and Bourdain. How lost and alone, even though they seemed to have anything they could have wanted – fame, fortune, funds. Goblins got them. No one wanted to be with them where they were, depressed and despondent. Their families and friends deserve comfort, for sure, but where were they? Had their own lives to worry about, I guess.

My Pirated Life

Bruce Kison died at 68. I got a few more years than he. He pitched in relief in  the 1971 World Series, one that heralded the end of day baseball in the Fall Classic. He left the game for a pitch hitter who drove in the winning run and therefore earned a win while not doing much more than holding the Orioles from scoring for 6 innings. He got an obit in the NYT with two pictures. Baseball stats don’t lie.

Looking Good In Decline

Got a haircut and beard trim. Better to look good than to feel good at this point, while I still do and can. Barber said he was tired of working, considering retirement as he approached 70.

“I’m 71,” I replied.

“You don’t look 71,” he responded, shocked, taking a second look at the mirror to make sure his guess was based on actual appearance and not just a good natured compliment.

“What does 71 look like?”