sunrise
sunset

some mornings you wake up, taking it for granted that you did.

and, even though i know better after 15 consecutive years of sunday school and countless fire-and-brimstone sermons, i go to bed at night fully expecting that i'll live to see another day and seldom feel thankful that i did.

and on those all too rare occasions when i do remember to thank god for allowing me to see another sunrise, i often think about putting a big "thank you" sign above the bookcase in front of my bed to remind me for the times i forget to do so.

but i keep forgetting to do that, too.

this morning i got up and learned via e-mail that one of my dear friends had lost the youngest of her two kids. he had died in his sleep the day before. i couldn't help but wonder if he had taken it for granted that he would wake up saturday morning. if not, perhaps he should have. at 19, zachary was supposed to have a gazillion more mornings to express his gratitude for the blessing of opened eyes.

that's just the way it's supposed to be.

as the news of zachary's passing began reaching my former college classmates, my initial sadness was magnified by the reactions of the mothers whose children did wake up on sunday morning. they say there is no greater pain than losing a child and each and every one of them felt our friend's pain because they were all wondering: what if?

it's one thing to lose a child from natural causes or in some sort of tragic accident. it's quite another thing when a seemingly healthy child just never wakes up.

as the day progressed there were more reminders that nothing is guaranteed. my annual sunday morning pilgrimage to the larchmont farmer's market was a bust as there was some sort of street fair in its place. that proved to be a good thing though. it forced me to explore other options and while doing so, i began thinking about what a strange season this has been.

several of my once happily married friends are no longer happy or married and the ones that are still together are so not happy. michigan state is undefeated. medications have way too many side effects and are making the sick sicker. mrs. cleaver and mr. cunningham, tv's two paragons of virtue, passed within a week of each other. babies are dying of cholera in haiti. i didn't get invited to the company party. and people are still losing their jobs, homes and self-esteem even though the government tell us that the economy is bouncing back.

and now there is one less manchild roaming the planet.

it all kind of plays out like a marvin gaye song from the '70s. had his daddy not murdered him on april fool's day 16 years ago, the legendary crooner would probably have closed his eyes that night, stepped into the light the following morning and evolved into a legitimate modern-day prophet writing lyrics that would subsequently instruct us how to navigate these challenging times.

mercy, mercy me.

i could go on. there are myriad examples of things that have gone awry in this wild, wacky and sometimes wonderful season. but right now, there's no time to compile such a list.

i've got some work to do.

i gotta go make myself a sign.

thanks zach for the reminder.

peace.

i've written a letter to daddy

dear dad,

it seems odd that this is the first ever father's day letter i've written you and you're not around to even read it. hopefully, however, you can feel it. i'm starting to feel your presence more and more each day and that's been quite comforting as i face the anniversaries.

my first father's day without an earthly father.

your first birthday celebration in heaven.

and the anniversary of your passing.

sometimes it seems very surreal. but you'll be happy to know that i have good friends who have helped me get through the rough spots. and, that i'm doing ok. i have a job that i actually like--most days--and i'm focusing more on my passions, which i think would make you happy.

also, i'm thinking about getting a puppy! what kind do you think i should get? yeah, i know, i'm always gone, but you know me, i'm very resourceful!

well, i didn't want much. i suppose you're trying to get some rest so you can get up and watch the final round of the u.s. open. hopefully john h., cephus and mr. white are keeping you company. and i hope you're not losing all of your money to mr. jenkins playing cards. :-)

happy father's day. i think i'm about to do some things you'd be proud of. love you. miss you much. i'll write again soon. promise!

sunset at chelsea pier, new york, ny, may 14, 2010

some people celebrate their birthdays once a year,
while others celebrate their re-births every day.
some folks think age ages them,
while others prefer to contemplate the essence of time.
some people blow out their candles and make a wish,
while others are content to let their little lights shine.
some people look forward to unwrapping presents in pretty paper,
while others realize that the best gifts will never come in a box.

gifts like these 85 personally selected words.

happy birthday today and always.

mom, arnie, cousin marg back in the day!

eulogy for arnie

it's funny how that old african resolve always get you through the rough spots.

whenever i'm on the continent that's the one thing i'm always drawn to. it comforts me when i see despair. it strengthens me when when i feel as though i can't take another step. it inspires me when i see a half-naked child living in a one-room shanty smile at me as if jesus were standing behind me with a winning lotto ticket.

i'm searching for that resolve today as i prepare to send my cousin to the other side. like some of the africans i've encountered over the years arnie's life was less than idyllic. he served his country at a time when his country did not serve him. he made brave choices that set him apart from the norm at a time when that sort of bravery wasn't openly embraced.

yet, he still smiled.

that old african resolve shielded him from harm. it gave him the strength to ignore the haters and live life on his terms. those of us who knew and loved him may not always have embraced his way of doing things, but we certainly admired his defiance--even at the end.

because of the way arnie died, some of us will inevitably buy into the notion that it wasn't his time. i'm one of those people. i've heard the stories of how he wouldn't accept help, how he lived in a state of perpetual isolation, how he routinely rejected all of the things that would have made his final days on earth so much more pleasant.

and because all of our collective efforts were unsuccessful, we will undoubtedly blame ourselves for not having done more. i'm in that group, standing first in line.

but it's at times like these when we're told we must hold on to the good and move on.

i have so many great memories of arnie. he was inarguably the best cook in the mcdonald clan. i used to ask him to make his famous mustard coleslaw without the onions for me. he'd complain a little bit, but he always came through. i remember going to arnie and hat's house on oak street and eating city chicken, freeze pops, barbecue, baked beans and literally drinking cups of arnie's barbecue sauce because it was so dang good.

and they both taught me how to bake cookies from scratch--a skill, sadly, that has gone the way of the 8-track.

it didn't seem odd to me then that he lived with his mom until she died. it didn't seem weird that when he wasn't cleaning the homes of the rich folks up on the hill that he was finishing off six packs of hudepohl with his buddies in the kitchen. Nor did it seem unusual that he spent his off days watching soaps, cooking and frying hair.

that's just who arnie was and i had no problem accepting him then or now.

other than his cooking, arnie also had a great record collection. he always had all the best grooves. he introduced me to sunny and jr. walker's shotgun--tracks that still make me move to this day. and, you better not scratch his vinyl or there would be hell to pay. worse yet, lose one of his lou rawls albums like i did when i was a kid. i suspect, however, my brother gary had something to do with that. arnie could be a little obsessive, too. he'd order hundreds of vhs videos, cassette tapes and cds from the various clubs he'd join. his video and music library rivaled my own. and he was always buying junk he didn't need.

his things became his companions. they didn't talk back when he was at his most cantankerous.

and i'll remember that his heart, like hat's, was as big as mother africa. arnie was no saint, but he was saintly and sometimes that's an even better attribute to possess. just last christmas he gave me an unexpected and very generous gift, which made me gasp when i opened it. i didn't always call him when i was home and seldom visited, but none of that seemed to matter when i rang and thanked him this time. he was chipper and essentially told me what was his was mine. and that if i needed any financial help to just call him.

he also told me he loved me.

that's the last time i spoke to arnie even though i had meant to ring him again--just to check up on him. but, you know, i got caught up in the hollywood game--trying to squeeze a dollar out of a dime and find ways to deal with other less significant life issues. coulda, woulda, shoulda.

i never want to sing that song again.

all deaths teach us invaluable lessons once we're able to wrap our heads around losing someone we'll never physically encounter again. arnie was blind at the end of his life yet he saw far more than i can see now with my nearly 20/20 vision. he saw that the way to make it through life is to be who you are. it's not so much that he didn't give a hoot--although he really didn't--it's just that at the end of the day sometimes the only thing you have left is your resolve.

arnie wasn't much of a church guy but i'm hoping that the god of infinite chances whose mercy is so omnipotent and everlasting will look upon this fallen soldier, knowing that his heart was always in the right place and say: "well done, son."