Monday, September 9, 2013

In The Phone Book

Kids, and by "kids" I mean people under the age of sixty, ask me how to get in touch with me and I find myself telling them that I'm in the phone book. It's only when I look back into that blank stare that I realize that there is no phone book to speak of. I live in a world of buggy whips and spats; Mr. Potatohead and rock'n'roll.

When I poke through my bedside table for my personal address book I thumb through more dead friends than living souls that I might call. I've heard all my life that it goes by quickly. Really quickly. This isn't what I had in mind.

When I walk Jamaica around the block I notice Fall in the air. Makes me just a little bit sad. I notice a tear in my eye. She's a little bit slower and there's gray around her muzzle that I haven't noticed before. It occurs to me that she's eight now.

In case I've done nothing here that matters let me remind you that it's all about love. Don't worry about winning. Love will make everything right. Everything.

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