It's 9AM

How Deep is Your Love?

The month is almost over.

And the dog days are upon us.

I watched the weather man warn us last night.

The heat is here until the end of next week.

It’s hot.

Like, Why is the sun so mad at us hot?

How hot is it?

It’s nice when you’re with a lady, but it ain’t no good when you’re in the jungle.

A little Robin Williams there.

I saw a picture of Mrs. Doubtfire cast all grown up and they had a “ghost” photo of him on the side.

Smiling at the kids.

I don’t think about a comedian I never met as much as I do my Mom or my Dad, but I miss him.

He came into my life with Mork and Mindy and stayed for thirty years.

How can you miss someone you never knew?

I used to joke with an ex how much we loved “Friends”

It was like having a group of friends you met every Thursday night, caught up with each other, and then planned to meet again next week.

I would listen to her talk about it with her sister and it was like they were discussing real people.

Sometimes.

She knew it was a show, but in her mind, the memory of it was real enough.

In my mind too.

Where I pack people from books, people from shows, people who played people in shows made from books.

A long list of characters.

And all of them real.

Real enough.

Ever cried when someone died in a book?

I can remember the first time I lost it.

Dragonlance.

The grumpy old Dwarf, Flint climbed a mountain, and had a heart attack.

Tanis Half-Elven and Tasslehoff Burrfoot had to bury him.

Scratches on dead tree bark and I’m sniffling and snuffing.

Or even last year, if you read Dresden.

Not as many overflowing tears, but moist eyes and maybe two tear tracks down my tan cheeks.

The power of words to move us.

Because of what they do in our mind.

Remind us of friends, real or make believe, we’ve grown to love.

And lose.

Except…

My mom has been gone since I was 22.

Too young for both of us, by far.

Most of my memories of her are the color of a photograph from the 70’s.

Even now they are becoming fragmented, more like pieces of memories.

Slips and moments and tiny little flashes.

But…

She wasn’t with me when I was in Africa, even though she was still alive.

She wasn’t with me in California, even though she always wanted to go there.

The thought of her was with me in those places.

Almost as it is today.

I told someone once, she’s still with me, just not here at this moment.

Even after she was gone.

And I find her every time I listen to a 70’s song.

Put on my Boogie Shoes and she’s in our tiny living room shaking her groove thing, lit Marborol Red in one hand, moving with just a hint of rhythm.

I wonder if that’s why I’m so intent/interested in saving my hometown.

It’s where most of the ghosts live.

I think for me I know this one truth.

Everything is temporary.

Life is short, too short for something with so much wonder in it.

And I want to commit as much of it to memory as I can, even if it gets a bit crowded in there.

If a character in a book creates an emotion, then Joy!

If a song makes me smile at a memory, then Joy!

TV shows, and movies and people in real life.

What’s that quote?

A man is truly rich when he is surrounded by friends?

Something like that or along that thought.

We can’t be surrounded by friends and family in real time, all the time, so we commit their foibles to memory, and frame it in photographs in our head.

A mind packed with thoughts of good deeds, good jokes and good actions can’t help but be a good time.

Celebrate today or Get Down Tonight, either way, Take It Easy.

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