Yesterday the Native Family and Friends arrived and celebrated Steve’s return home.

I couldn’t determine if this was a celebration of his life or impending death; passing into the next realm.

Blood stained his mouth and he has pneumonia although he was able to eat something.

The paramedics took him away this morning and I find myself missing him as I’m now certain others do as well.

“He’s not coming back.” That was the prediction.

He’s tough! Armed with this will to live, yet seems unable to do this sober. I feel sadness for him like few others.

He was in a coma for 9 days and made it back to the land of the living.

I asked if he remembers anything from where he went during the coma. He said, “NO.”

“You can get used to anything.”

The masks make you feel surrounded… Restricted. Contained. Trapped?

I sometimes wonder about that poor bastard THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

Now there was someone with a real complaint.

I have watched the stubborn discourse of those self righteous sorts who have determined that they would rather be right than have joy.

I have felt that shame of misunderstood hate and unable to break the love I once felt, came to thankfully forgive both defects of character.

2 siblings who hadn’t spoken in 55 years were brought together by the impending death of one and within minutes, both were weeping because of a misunderstanding and all that wasted time.

An observer said, “I realized I was witnessing 55 year old tears.”

” This world is made for 50 year old men. ”

His voice rose above the stares and destain of the feminists and millennials who strained to see who dared make such a claim.

I thought it difficult to argue, remembering having that very thought in my twenties which was quickly followed with, ‘ah but they don’t have my youth.’

I doubt if either last as long as we think it will.

I watched him sink his aged face into his coffee and fade.

We were about to cross the street when She said, “You’re not going to be able to hold my hand forever. “

“True that, however the day hasn’t arrived yet.”

8 and already to break away! I love her spirit.

I’ve been painting with some success… Time, money and studio all available at the same time due to chaos and viral pandemic.

This week I awoke one morning and the the book I began months ago however not word one written in weeks, began to speak… “Come back and finish what you began.”

I told my 8 years old daughter on the way to swimming that my nickname was Captain Chaos at 2 different times by 2 different groups of people. She said, “You’re not captain chaos anymore because you don’t really do chaos .”

Maybe the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me! Until she said, “In the summer when it’s nice to play or go to the pool, some parents make their kids do chores and that’s just pure evil. That’s what makes you such a great Dad!

From here I can finish the book.

During the early weeks of the pandemic I would have tea with that Russian girl and listened to what seemed like an inexhaustible supply of story about her “EX”

I was testing my patience along with my abilities to listen to things that have nothing to do with me; but mainly I was just somewhere between trying to be helpful and killing time.

It’s been 2 months now since her last visit and for reasons I don’t understand I haven’t had tea during this time. I also have not listened to any stories about addict’s however 2 addict acquaintances of mine have died in the past week.

I don’t know the back story however there seems to be some debate about coronavirus masks… My take:

She said, “For Christ’s sake Richard, this rally is being attended by mainly feminists! WTF were you thinking?”

He responds, “I know Karen. I know… I may have had too much to drink and it seemed funny at the time!”