Sunset 10:30pm Salisbury England

Sitting by my tent in Salisbury, impatiently waiting for the sun to set in order to allow sleep to come, a realisation came to me.

It was 10:30pm at night when darkness should be covering the land, this beautiful sunset was happening. Watching until almost 11:30pm before the the sky became just a remembrance of the day that had just passed.

Then waking next morning at 4:30am to find the sun already filling the sky with a new day. At first how dare the sun open my eyes at such an early time I thought. How silly to be annoyed at the dawning of a new day with all its possibilities. How silly to be impatiently waiting for the sun to set. The next thought How often have I been this silly?

Then I realised that I could ride from 6am to 9pm if I chose to do so. What things I could see and do in that much time? My adventure just became longer then the narrowness of my mind had ever thought it could be.

This is just one of the events that happen on my travels in 2006 Just one of the ways the narrow streets of my mind began to widen, road blocks cleared, setting me free to explore endless possibilities. Happiness came in to the places of my mind where depression had resided for so many years. How freeing this realisation was!

Something for the Spirit

http://static.videoegg.com/ted/flash/fullscreen.html?v=/ted/movies/JILLTAYLOR-2008-2&cid=/ted/movies

My friend Gary sent me this wonderful lift for the spirit. I think what this lady has to share is just what we need to hear from a scientist.

Enjoy

England 2008

I am surprised by the anxiety as I purchase my tickets. For two days I struggle with the dates and times, finally I buy. The next day after canceling the itinerary I'm back fiddling with dates and times. I purchase again, it has taken me four days to make a decision; what the heck?

This is the third year one would think this would be old hat by now, but no! Well the darn things are now purchased somewhat less anxiety, so purchased they will stay.

I leave May 7th via Delta Airlines this year. The past two I have used Continental, however this year their prices reached $1200, mine are $789 nice savings.

Mark will get a kick out of this = I almost reformatted my hard drive; almost. I was having some difficulty getting rid of a piece of software that had embedded itself in my computer somewhere. This computer has a option of letting you reload everything from a point before you started having problems, which I did. It appears that the option chose took the computer back to about the time I bought it wiping out everything I had put on it for the past year. Writings, downloads, pictures, etc.. All gone! Darn! Darn! Darn!

Sooooo all my postings from my 2006 and 2007 trips are gone, thus there will be no more entries in this blog about prior trips. Bummer dude!

I am sure there is some metaphysical or Freudian reason for this to have happened. How ever it could be, possibably, just not paying attention to business.

Trip One, Part One

May 19, 2006 (10:22am)

I have purchased my tickets to England with much fear. This really surprised me! When I wrote the check there was much anxiety. Now as I wait to leave, I feel much anxiety also what am I going to do in England when I get there? Do I have enough money? Where am I going? All in, all I still intend to go, at this point there is no turning back unless I wish to give Continental Airlines $800 dollars. I don’t think so!

I can’t begin to think what I’m going to do for 13 hours in the air. This laptop, purchased just for this occasions, only keeps a charge for three hours. I have a lay over in Cleveland so I can recharge there it if need be. Guess I’ll buy another battery just in case so I can keep myself somewhat busy during the flight. The flight leaves Phoenix at 10:30am on Saturday and arrives 8:30am Sunday at Gatwick Airport. I chose Gatwick so I would be closer to my first stop Salisbury that much I know. Kevin and Stacey are going to take me to the airport.

I walked into the travel agency after spending the better part of the morning looking for fares on the internet. The woman handling the reservations was Mary Carol, we joked about her being a nun. We spent about a half hour looking then it was time to pull out the old check book. How much fear your mind can fill you with is amazing. As the years roll on



Saturday, May 27, 2006

Stacey dropped me off at the airport, so much for long goodbyes. Kevin called before I left, both report being concerned that I may never find my way back home. Also report that they have discussed my adventure with friends who seem to think it was O.K. The big question was had I working out on a bike for the ride? The kids seem not to want to deal with the idea that I will not be staying a Motel 6, and intend to peddle my . . . all over England.

Pissed off the gate agent because I didn’t have my laptop and camera out of the bags for them to inspect “on one of the busiest days of the year.” I asked him where the instructions were to take them out to which he replied “Everyone knows this.” “Guess not everyone” I said off to the plane thank you very much.

Sunday, May 28, 2006

Left Phoenix Saturday at 10:30 am, arrived Cleveland 5:00 pm, left for England at 7:30 pm arriving 7:22 am. I had gone on line with Stacey where we printed out boarding passes and picked a seat that looked good. It was the first seat just as you enter the plane, however, on this plane there was no bulkhead there was the door and lots of leg room. The flight was really smooth and we had a head flight attendant who made sure all went smoothly. My seat mate, from Phoenix going to visit his sister in London, we had three seats to ourselves and having the galley right there was very convenient. As warned I stood up every 90 minuets to stretch my legs so I did not get Thrubitus or something. The stewardess’s were sitting directly in front of us, as we landed, so we had a nice chat with them.

Arrived in Gatwick, went through customs, then went to pick up my “bag.” I started looking around for a cart that someone had not returned to the rack, and low and behold they were all over the place. Then I realized that they were free for the taking. Yep! No fumbling for coins just take one and go. Can you imagine an English tourist arriving in the U. S. and being surprised at having to pay for a dolly.

There was much relief to see that my “bag” held together, only one strap was a little lose. Why should I be worried about the “bag” coming apart you should ask? Because it was two bike panniers, oops cycle (in England a bike is a motorcycle), bags, a tent and sleeping mat, Mark let me use for the trip, all held together with straps. The cycle panniers had been purchased years ago for a trip to England now they were actually going. I had purchased a tent and mat, but they were a bit un-wheedling so I took them back to Wal Mart, along with a few other things, re-packed the “bag” hoping it land in England safe and sound.

After putting my bags, consisting of the “bag,” my back pack, bought to hold my laptop securely, a small bag used to hold snacks, and my camera I was ready to find a way out of the airport. Low and behold there not 100 ft from the baggage claim was a place to buy bus and train tickets. Imagine the train and bus lines came right into the airport. They were right there! Heading all over England, not just around the airport. I purchased a ticket to Salisbury and walked to the bus stop...Oh my God just outside the airport door, not ten blocks away. Buses came in like flies on ... Zip, zip, zip, bus after bus. From where I stood I could see the trains, also zipping in and out. More then one bus, more then one train with in the same hour? How crazy was this? My bus arrived, off we went to Heathrow.

Now I had flown into Gatwick because it was closer to Salisbury which I planed to make my first stop in England. The bus did not go from Gatwick to Salisbury as you might have guessed. I had to change buses in Heathrow then off to Salisbury. Now I am guessing, by seeing the size of the plane’s that arrived at Gatwick and those at Heathrow, next time I’ll fly into Heathrow save the bus fare, and fly on a bigger plane. Thankfully, I guess, I changed $100.00 to Pounds in Cleveland. I was also promptly ripped off. Which I later read in the travel book they would do. The price advertised for conversion is for converting pounds to dollars. The price for converting dollars to pounds is not advertised and I quickly found out why.

My $100.00 bought 50.00 £ and I was charged $5.00 for the exchange. Anyway I bought my English bus ticket with English money and preceded to spend the next four hours on and off busses. Next time I’ll take the train as it goes directly to, I found out later, Salisbury. The bus was crowed and some the those on board had not heard of deodorant. This is something I knew I would run to, but.... My next adventure was making #1 on the bus. I thought I’d wait until the next bus stop, make a dash for the bathroom returning to my seat before moving on. As I entered I was surprised by the low ceiling. I soon found out why standing and starting my activity on the bus was not a good idea. The bus began to back up knocking me into the door. Next, of course we moved forward causing me to fall into the wall and quickly realized my folly. There was a reason the ceiling was so low, you were to sit to do your business not stand, but I was standing and by god I was not going sit at this point. Upon finishing I turned to leave finding the door was wide open having been jarred open when I hit it; how fun is that. I returned to my seat careful not to make eye contact with anyone.

We arrived at Salisbury now what? I watched another American ask the bus driver for directions. The driver was very helpful and I listened so I did not have to ask the same questions making me appear like a tourist. What’s the name of that book? Where You Are, There You Are. Yip, I was certainly there at a bus stop is Salisbury with no idea how to find out where to go next. I had made two reservations in Salisbury, online before heading to England, one was a campground, which are know as a Caravan Parks here, the other was at a youth hostel advertised to be within walking distance of the bus station.

Of course I had no idea which way to walk from the bus station. I stood for awhile, then began to walk about sort of circularly. So I ended back at the bus station which much to my amazement had a map of the town upon which, clearly marked was the YHA, such a concept. After spending sometime studying the map I now knew which was up(north) I set off for the hostel. I found that the “bag” was a bit awkward, weighty which cause the strap to bite into my neck when I hung it there. The back pack would not sit right, or I did not adjust it right so it bit into my arms. After some trial and error I was able to get them to hang on me without causing a great deal of pain or damage.

The side walks in Salisbury are very, very narrow. The cars are parked, or drive very close to the sidewalks. They zip by at speeds which make infamous New York cab look tame. I soon found how to walk down the street without banging into cars, or have them bang into me, and buildings. My attempt to find the youth hostel was a success! Hump, who needs to ask directions. I purchased two nights in a dorm, settled in much relieved to unload my bags. The room slept eight and I wondered why the windows were blocked open. That night I found out why; body heat.

After settling in I did a walk about, this time not circular in nature, finding such ancient things as Pizza Hut, Mac Donald, Burger King, Papa John’s Pizza, and Subway. Just what I came to England for was to eat the junk food of America. Also I found a Woolworth 5 and 10 which was open for business. I could not resist I had to go in an see if it was reminiscent of the Woolworth’s of my childhood. Wooden floor that squeaked when you walked, wooden counters packed full of everything you needed, not wanted and of course the toy aisle. It was pretty darn close, the floor was made to look like the wood floors of old, but was really tile that did not squeak. It reminded me of a time lost when things where much simpler. In my head, back then it was more important to buy what you needed and not worry about getting the things you wanted.

Then I found St. Andrews church in the middle of town which had been re-build in 1200. It have a list of all the priests that had served there dating back to 600 AD. The better part of the floor turned out to be crypt lids where people who once worshiped here lie. The dates as old as the church had been etched, some so old that makings were unreadable. Next was the river walk to the breath taking, absolutely beautiful, huge Salisbury Cathedral. This beautiful house of prayer begun in 1200 and finished about 1245, that would be 400 years before the first settlements in the “new world.” The inside was absolutely wonderful, here too people had been buried in the floor, again the stones worn from the feet of worshipers making names no longer legible. Crypts older then the church lined the walls and aisles, in them lie Knights who had fought alongside famous Kings and Queens. Some had wives, sometimes sons and Daughters, in relief.

I actually touch the tombs, yes you can touch them, they are not roped off, or have guards running around yelling at you. I looked at the effigy’s of Knights there swords across their chest, at times their Lady at there side, dead 500 years or more, yet still visible. Silence filled the huge cathedral as sight seers passed by crypts with respect. The ceiling of lead, 100's of feet above, rested on stone, and wood arches raised there without the help of a steel cranes. Joints fitted together with only the smallest layer of mortar still intact. The Cloisters where once priests walked in deep contemplation of prayer and deed called to be walked through quietly doing the same.
The event had left me surprisingly uplifted with a renewal of spirit. But, now the body was hungry so I went in search of supper in an old English Pub. I soon found out that lots of old English Pubs don’t cook on Sunday, drink yes, cook no. Walking about for some time, I can’t stand this I rarely eat at them back home, and here I am in England eating at Burger King; yucky, yucky, yucky. Back to my dorm room and sleep...

But, wait my cell phone rings, who could it be? My Daughter. “What are you doing, where are you, why didn’t you call?” I had been trying to figure out how to call by putting a “+” in front of someone’s number as I was told to do by the phone salesperson. Easy right, not with a Razor its not. Anyway I gave her an update hung up, figured out how to put in the “+” and called her back. She reported that I was being tracked through the streets of Salisbury on her computer. After getting off the phone I go looking for my charger and can’t find it. No this can not be happening I must have left it at Stacey’s house so I’ll have to buy one tomorrow. Also realize I have no idea what time it is here. The cell phone, which was suppose to be my clock, is not automatically up dating the time here so I have Cleveland time, not helpful, tomorrow I’ll also get a watch.

Weather: 50 degrees, and over cast and I mean overcast.

Feburary 2008

"My right side sill hurts." It was the third day.

"You need to go to the ER" She said.

"No I'll be o.k."

"No tonight"

We joke about her just wanting me to get a cather like she had to when I made her go to the ER. Late that evening, as she stands beside the gurney, the doctor, with a grim look, states:

"There is a problem, you have cancer on your kidney. It's got to come out I called the best urologist I know. You need to come back for a cat scan tomorrow morning."

He is concerned, we have worked together for almost four years in this ER. I am usually standing next to him talking to the person on the gurney. As he talks I think this is not what she sign up for. I hear him but, my mind is thinking of my kids, mother, and her. I know she will soon be gone, but not before she does the right thing.

We go home, but do not talk.

Day two:

"I just checked the cat scan. It is deffinently cancer. I'm going to see if the urologist wants to operated now so you may not be going home."

Another ER Doctor I had spent four years working with. He is almost in tears as he turns to make the call. Befoe I leave the ER I have appointments for the next day that would usually take months to get.

Day Three:

"I have studied the scans, we need to opeate. There is no biopsie we know what this is. It has to come out, probably all of your left kidney."

"I have no insurance."

"Pay me $30 a month if you want to. I don't care if you don't have insurance we opeate I'm not going to let you just die, the room is reserved."

We go home, we don't talk.

June, she stood beside the gurney as they put the epidural in to help put me under.

"If they find anything more tell them I don't want to wake up."

I wake, after a week in the hospital we go home, we do not talk.

September she was gone along with my kidney, but I was alive.

Every six months for three years I must experiance the same tests to make sure there was no recurrence.

Then once a year, the last one being today.

Each time I leave the Doctor's office to sit in the parking lot alone crying.

The relieve is absolutely overwhelming and surprising. I have not thought about it, yet on the rear burner it sits. Cooking slowly, causing me to be short, distant, angry, short tempered, and scared as the test time come closer. Every word uttered by the radiologist suggests it's back. Every word not said by the doctor is a death notice. Then he finally states "You have no recurrence, everything looks good, see you next year." I am given a benediction such as no priest or pastor has ever offed me.

Each time I am thankful of how long my life has been, yet how soon it can end; far to soon.

I compose myself to call those who want to know the results of the tests as soon as possible. With each call I hear relief, which again renews mine.

Then it is on to experianceing each special day until it is time to take the tests again.

Trip One

This is a journal, in part, is of two trips taken to England in the mists of personal disillusionment. The two trips presented their own themes, seemingly of their own accord. This may sound metaphysical, which it is to some extent. There was no preconceived believe that these trips would produce the inner result they did. I offer these writings to you only because many who have read them indicated that they to experienced some inner change.

For myself I look forward to as many more trips as possible, knowing that each, if left to its own devices, may produce the same effect. On my third trip I expect to ride 700 miles on a "push bike" allowing what come to come. The fourth trip will consist of a ride from "End to End," Lands End in Cornwall to John O’Goats in Scotland a journey of 980 miles. But, back to the first two trips...
I began dreaming about traveling to England so long ago I can not even date it. I think it entered my head when my Aunt Dot and Uncle Ken came back from a trip there with tails of relatives with read hair who were my grandfather’s brother’s children. The romance of a whole new family still in the land where my grandparents had migrated from was the seed. I remember my uncle talking about visiting with family, and a trip to the Pub that his father use to drink in. That Pub became the soil for the dream to grow in. Germinating in the sprinkle of day dreams about what it would be like to repeat the visit to family, and Pub where my grandfather once spent time. It was then further fertilized when two cousins from England came to visit my grandparents. I was mesmerized as they talked, the pictures their words painted in my head caused the dream to take firm root.
The dream was expanded after my fathers death with the addition of riding a bicycle through the English county side. Hopefully visiting the WW II air field he flew out, along with a mythical Pub he visited. Day dreams of being able to talk to an ancient bar keep who would relate tails of the young flier from so long ago. The bike riding seed came from a picture I saw somewhere with him standing next to, or riding a bike in England. At some point came the realization that this was attempt to connect to three men, along with a family I knew very little about. Due to events during my childhood this side of the family was peripherally known. A part of my heritage had peeked out at me from behind a door beckoning me to come see what was inside.

Yet, time moved on, life happened, careers, marriage, children, moves, college, so many things that cause a dream to slip in priority. It hovered in the twilight of my mind resurfacing from time to time, shaping a schema of what the trip would look like. Still more life events divorce, new relationships, grandchildren, and deaths intervened sending the dream back to is hibernation time and time again.

After the divorce I had spent a great deal of time digging out who was buried under the pile of what people wanted me to be. Non productive behaviors, that had kept me locked in shame and self doubt, were weeded out of my repertoire. Self trust took root as the weeds of mistrust were pulled out. The landscape of self flourished causing the dream of traveling to England to come closer to reality. However, reality has a way of slapping you around from time to time. Four things happened that caused the dream to be buried deeper then ever before.

The first was an accident, followed by two disastrous relationships, the Cancer came in for the knock out. These everts caused the destruction of my professional and person self leaving an inability to function as I had. Self esteem, along with self confidents gone, self doubt along with it’s friend shame grew back stronger then ever. The weed of mistrust strangled the tender sapling of self trust. Darkness and storms flooded my life seeming destroying the garden, ending my life was truly an answer to the psychic pain and self loathing I lived in.
There was no happiness only fear and dispar grew where hope had once flourished. The Dark Ages could not have been any more horrific than this, what more? More came in the shape of a murder. The senceless murder of woman who had been part of my life for over twenty years. The relationship I had with her was, in my head, never to be had again. It would take far to much time to cultivate, time which was no long available. My spirit seemed to have been taken away allowing for a darkness to settle over the garden, which blotted out God. Yet, the dream of England began dancing in my head like sugarplum’s, what ever sugarplum’s are. It again peeked out, crooked a finger beckoning to come before it was to late. I heeded the call...
On May 19, 2006 I purchased an airline ticket that would change my life. These are almost daily emails sent back to the U.S. about a trip which turned out to be an adventure beyond anything dreamed up over the years. They are mostly as I sent them to family and friends as I traveled. I had no planned itinerary which needed to be followed; thus, there was no rushing about. I traveled to new vistas when I was moved to do so. New people crossed my path enriching my life. I did, however, have in the back of my mind the above seeds planted so long ago. Visiting unknown family, a WW II air field, then visiting sites having to do with time King Arthur.
Finding sites from the 4th and 5th centuries, or even earlier, is not difficult in England. Coming in touch with such ancient sites at first is overwhelming, and mind boggling. To touch a building that is still in use after existing for more than one thousand years tends to put you in your place very quickly. It is often said that looking up at the star filled heavens can give one the feeling of being insignificant in the scheme of things, but the buildings there, for me, have the same ability. Only more so since you can walk in them, touch them, see the worn stone entrance steps which seem to say "You are not the first nor the last. I will be here long after you have turned to dust." Kind of puts things in perspective!

Tax Time

Yep it's tax time again. By the way I do taxes when I'm not teaching Psychology.

Yep been doing taxes since 1975.

Long time ya think?

Once up on a time there was a tax business in Kingman, Arizona owned by me. About this time of year off I'd go on the rounds of my clients homes, have dinner with them, talk about the past year along with hopes and dreams for the coming one, then do their taxes. Sometimes I'd help fix a leaky pipe, or push a car that refused to start. I'd share in their births, deaths, marriages and divorces. I be asked advice on all aspects of their lives. We would laugh and/or cry together, hug bless each other then head off in to the year.

Kind of like an itinerant pastor of old.

My bible, a full life of varied experiences, and the IRS tax code, .

I met wonderful people doing taxes in Kingman.

Now I sit in an office cubicle, clients coming to me. We don't have dinner any more, fix leaky pipes, or push finicky cars, however we still laugh and/or cry. Still share births, deaths, marriages and divorces. Talk of the past year and the hopes and dreams for the coming one. Am still asked advice on all aspects of their lives. Get a few hugs along with a few blessings.

The very best is that I am still meeting wonderful people doing taxes.

I am blessed because I can do taxes!

Imagine that!

Snow

Not a great picture, but one that will work for now. View from my Dinning Room Arcadia door. Snow! Lots of Snow.

I've always enjoyed the silence that comes with a heavy snow fall. I walk in the woods behind my house in this brilliant silence. Ever so often the whoosh of the snow falling from the pines break the quiet.

I don't shovel snow. Just don't, just will not. I kick it aside, drive back and forth over it, but shovel? Hell no. Why shovel something that is not going to be there that long anyway? Walk on it until it's flat, good enough for me.

I learned to ski about ten years ago with my friend Mark at Wolfs Creek Pass in Colorado. We would go to Park City every February to Ski. It was in Park City that sledding became something that was fun to do. Now I do it when my grand kids come up for a visit. The last time I wondered why I don't do it. Then I figured out that you needed to have someone to laugh and giggle with when you fall in the snow.

I have driven in snow for most of my life. I have a great respect for what it can do to a road or highway. We have people who by 4 wheel drives and thing they can fly down the road. I have to drive 10 miles of highway to get from my house to town. Constantly amazed at the number of cars on the median, some upside down, or on their sides. No respect for snow. Tish, Tish.

White snow will turn into the greens of spring. Empty lakes will have water again for awhile, empty stream beds will run full force at times flooding surrounding areas. Snow brings money to our town because the ski resort full, motels are full, alias so are the already packed roads.

But for a short time snow brings a clear bright silence. Wonderful stuff snow.

Christmas

Christmas always leaves me with mixed emotions. At times it has been my least favorite holiday for many reasons. However, on the day itself when I saw the kids getting up their eyes open as wide as could be staring at all the presents under the tree. On that day I felt my father's joy for Christmas, understood why it was so important to him. Understood why he took what ever measures to be on earth for his last Christmas in 1987.

What am I babbling about you might ask?

Let me explain.

When my Dad was flying bombing runs during WW II my mother lived with her parents. When I was born my mother went to work, my Aunt Elsie became my "sister" baby sitter. When Dad returned from the war the three of us moved to a house in West Babylon. The house behind my Grandparents came up for sale, Dad used his GI benefits to buy it. There was just enough money coming in to keep the roof over our heads. Mom had to go back to work, I went back to my Aunt and Grandmother. Over time I just never when "home" again. There were many reasons given for this, sleep, time, etc.. My Dad and Mom worked everyday to make enough money to feed the growing family. The money barley keep the heat on, food on the table, and clothes on their backs. Since there were only four of us in my grandparents house things were a lot better.

My Grandparents backyard backed up to my Parents back yard, separated by a fence. It was over that fence I was passed, like a Christmas package, every Christmas Eve. That was the only eight hours out of the year I lived with my parents and siblings. I once had a room in my parents house that I occupied for eight hours, once a year. Every year around 9pm I'd be lifted over the fence, later I climbed it, to be stuffed in to bed awaiting Christmas morning. In the early years it was my sister Carol and I who looked in amazement at the huge tree under which seemed to reside hundreds of present. Then over the years came brother Tom, Sister Ann, Brothers Robert, Frank, Danny and Kenny. By the time the four younger brothers came along I was no long climbing the fence, but driving my car.

On Christmas day we would get into my Dad's car, which had no heater, bundle up for the ride to Grandma and Grandpa Cooke's house. My Dad would begin to sing Christmas Carols, Mom, my sister and I would join in. We had to be back at Nana and Pops by 4pm for dinner. The family would gather around the Christmas tree, presents distributed, then it was time for dinner. Great Grandpa and Grandma, my grandfather's sisters and their families sometime twenty people. We gathered around a table made for six laughter and talk abounding.

When my kids came along we were still living in New York. It seemed to me the hard times of getting enough money to live on was pasted on to me from my Dad. On Christmas Eve I would receive a small bonus. I then spent the better part of the evening running from store to store getting as many things on the "wish list" as possible. I would work late into the evening, then head home to put up the tree, and wrap presents with my former wife. The kids would be up early eye's as wide as ours use to get.

A couple of years after my Dad's death I found a note book he had used for a journal on the transport taking him to England in 1943. Christmas day he wrote to my Mother "I miss you and Cookie, I hope to come home and spend every Christmas with you both."

In 1974 we moved to Arizona in an attempt to save a troubled marriage. My children grew up in Arizona devoid of Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, and Grandparent for many years. We had our own Christmas's in Lake Havasu, Kingman, Flagstaff, then Phoenix. They now have their own tradition of Christmas Eve at my Son, Christmas Day at my Daughters. I now watch my grandchildren's eyes become rounded on Christmas morning. The same look my brothers and sisters had, the same look my kids had. That look of intense amazement and wonderment.

Just to see that look made it all worth it. Didn't Dad?

Death

Death, the Grim Reaper, The Boatman, so many forms and namesgiven to a moment in time. I think Cary Grant, Fredrick March, and Brad Pitt were some of Hollywood's personifications of death.

The was five the first time death entered my world. My grandaunt's husband died from cancer, I did not understand what that was, nor did I understand what death was. I was dressed up in my Sunday clothes, told how to behave, what to do as we headed to Babylon for the "viewing." It was winter because I remember having my great coat on, with my head covered by a Fedora, quite dapper just like my Grandfather.

The entrance to Boyd's Funeral home look much like the an apartment building. There was a large mahogany door surrounded by a white brick. A carriage lamp separated the door from a small stained glass window to the right Funny how memory works I can see the narrow hallway we entered, then turned in to the room that held our family. The door was about midway in the room, so we had to walk down toward a box covered with flowers. My cousin, who's dad had died, waved to me, I waved back. My action earned me one of my grandmother's "Just you wait until I get you home" looks. Solemnly I approached the box, peeked in to find my Uncle sleeping. I knelt down, said some kind of prayer, as I was told to do, then said I was sorry, not knowing what I had done to be sorry for, to my Great Aunt.

After dinner for the next three evenings we returned to the Funeral home. When ever I attempted to be with my cousin we were separated. Told in loud whispers this was not a place to play. So it all became quite boring for us five year old's. No one explained that the man in the box was never going to wake up. I think it was on the next visited we wandered away from the family. We came upon a smaller room that was empty except for a smaller white version of the box. We approached climbed up on the kneeler, looked in, finding someone our age asleep. I attempted to wake him, but he did not more.

My grandmother found us which earned another "wait until I get you home look." I managed to get back to that room by myself to look at this "me" sleeping. I then knew what death was, however I did not understand why someone my age was there. It was suppose to be an older person not a "me." I just stood there looking trying to figure it all out. Can't tell you what it was that I came up with. I do know that at some point I realised I had no fear of my death.

The next day I watched them put my Uncle's box in the ground. Watched my cousin laughing with her sister. Listened as my grandmother stated "she's to young to understand, one day it will catch up to her." I remember feeling angry for her saying that. My beautiful cousin should not be hurt by anyone. We returned to doing what was life back then until the next death.

We visited Boyd's many time as I was growing up. Boyd's a second "home" in Deer Park where Great Grandpa was "laid out." Each Great Grandparent "passed," then Great Aunt's and Uncle's, Aunt's and Uncle's, friends of the family. The burial ground moved from New York to Florida where Dad, Nana and Pop are. Only my mother and I, in addition to some cousin's, are left to remember these people. Mom and I drag out the pictures saying remember this event or that person.

In the past four years three of my younger siblings have die. It's not suppose to be that way, then the picture of that child from long ago comes to me. What is the way it is suppose to be? I wonder at time's if I'll out live all my siblings?

One of my loneliest feeling is thinking about what it will be like when my mother dies.

There will be no one left to say "Remember..."

Death has come to visit me twice now. The first time it happen was about a week after my Dad died. I knew at the time it was just a friendly visit to say Hi!. A knock on my door to remind me that at some point this life will come to an end. It was Christmas Eve when the Doctor walked in to tell me that I had five years left to live; that was 1987. Then another visit four years ago. "We found cancer we need to operate," they did, I'm still here. Just another friendly reminder that the sand is running low in the hour glass of life.

What will I have accomplished once it's all said and done.

My kids that what!

My wonderful children all the rest is the stuff of illusions.

Everything in the past is memory
Everything in the future is imagination

Both are illusions

The only thing completely real is this one instant of the present
Have to dig up the sorce?