There's bad news on the other line.

Good news first:
I am sipping a glass of whole milk and apologizing to my body as I feel the fat curdle in the pit of my stomach.

Sometimes I read over this blog and think, Yeah, I remember when I was thinking that. And how I felt. And what was around me and in me and beside me. Through me.

These words on this paper.

The color in the storm.

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Whole. Milk. Not halved nor split in quarters so that it's X-percents of heightened health so I can sip my latte without choking.

Yes, I remember what I was thinking when I wrote that: Belladona.

That's a secret.
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Today's mental boundaries got left at the foot of a waterfall: Rainbow Falls--aptly named for the colorful arcs that stretch across the mist where the water smashes into the creek below. Of course, if you decide to wear polarized lenses,

you will not be able to see it.

Interesting that there is something in this world that can only be seen if you're looking through the right eyes.

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Bad News: Steve Meissner, a close friend of my cousin's family and our family, just died completely unexpectedly. Wonderful singer/songwriter who glowed with joy and whose heart's kindness was soft as velvet and calm like the depths of the sea. I don't understand how a man could drop dead at 48. I don't quite ... understand.

photo courtesy of the Insider

And you can talk about the man, remember his voice on the tape from my parents' wedding--"To lead a better life, I need my love beside me" (thank you Beatles). He would handle the Oscars in the evening and be at family breakfast in the morning, tinkling along at the piano next to my aunt who LOVES Aude to Joy (and, though his talent far surpasses the oldie, he'd eagerly play along).

You can say all these things but it won't bring him back. I can't chatter in delight about the Life in his smile, then bring you to meet him at our next family gathering. He can't sing at my wedding, can't share a conversation with my uncle, can't admire my cousin's beautiful, newly renovated home.

We should get a warning: A memo from the Watcher that says, "Hey. Heads up. Friend: This is the last time he's going to play you this song. Mother: This is the last time he'll kiss you goodnight. World: This is the Last. The Last."

And if Death is not a complete end, it is a stopping: a resting in the Waiting until someone else follows. And then another. And another. Until we all step in our place to find out the Next.

regretful Cheers to another Last. and Fond Prayers for the departed.