No one gets off this orb alive. Over the past few months, I get emails or social media posts about the deaths of people I know or worked with more often lately. I get nostalgic, especially over the people I worked with. I think about what we did together or the nights after work when we had a few beers, played pool, or just let off steam. Many moved to the far suburbs or out of state. We rarely saw each other over the years. Yet, it seems like yesterday we did.
The times I run into old friends are at the few wakes I attend. It seems like wakes and weddings are social occasions to meet old friends. The stiff in the casket is forgotten.
A few groups of former workers have monthly breakfasts or lunches. I never go. Most times, they are too far from where I live. Also, they turn into remember-when sessions. I do not need to relive the past, as great, horrible, or terrible as it may have been. There is another issue. Like anything, there are or were people I disliked. Some I still do, though they are not aware of it. I do not want to be in their company. I am fussy about who I associate with, especially at my age.
The Great Comedian will eventually send his last joke, the Grim Reaper, for my soul. I left instructions that under no circumstances do I want a wake and funeral. Just have my remains tossed in the furnace. If any money is left over, throw a party, and invite whoever is still alive. I wrote my obituary. Hell, I hate those boring treacly obits.
The other day was Ground Hog Day. Whoever came up with that should suffer from an eternal terminal case of crotch itch. I dream of the day when hordes of groundhogs invade a home in the wee hours, drag a naked person out of bed, haul his/her or whatever pronoun they use naked ass out of bed, and toss them out into below-zero weather to find out if they see their shadow.
Major League Baseball spring training starts on February 24th, three weeks from now. Baseball season is around the corner, and I can’t wait. I love baseball, though I am getting to despise some owners. They are getting just as bad as the fake football owners. What I also dislike is the cost of going to a ball game. In the past, baseball games were for all people. Just about anyone could afford to attend some games throughout the season. Now, even the bleachers and general admission tickets are pricey. You need big bucks to eat or have a beer. I will splurge once or twice to go to a game because there is nothing like watching a baseball game at the park. My other best place to watch games is in a saloon. At least I can afford the beer.
There are probably only a few weeks left for winter. March is around the corner with milder weather. The older I get, the more I hate winter. It makes me more cantankerous than usual, which causes inconsistency in me. Consistency is one hallmark of excellence. I hate to be inconsistent.