“I drank coffee and read old books and waited for the year to end.” ~ Richard Brautigan, Trout Fishing in America (1967)
Friends die. Democracies crumble.
This world, I’m sure you’ve noticed, is unfair. It takes no prisoners. (Unless it’s taking them to hidden prisons in far-off lands.)
I asked a friend who was in his final days in hospice to choose some music. (I was far away and wanted to feel connected.) Via text, he said, The Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds. I knew that album would never be the same. It’s no longer a Beach Boys album. Now it is the music of my friend who passed away two weeks ago. He will be as wrapped up in that music as Brian Wilson. In every song, every time, from here on out.
You probably have people in your life like that – friends who leave themselves behind in songs that still spook you a little whenever they pop up unbidden on the radio.
As for democracy crumbling? If it’s still standing when you read this, let’s just count it as a win and move on.
I’m supposed to be here to tell you that baseball is coming. I shouldn’t have to lean on baseball for solace. It’s not going to save a damn thing. But in its stupid, sweet way, it’s going to try.
But before it does, we have to spend a few more hours, days, weeks, in the Purgratorium.
Yes, I invented that word. I’ve had time on my hands.
Other words I’ve invented recently:
The Baseball Bloggess 