The Big Sleep

Task 23, May 30 to June 5

"The streets were dark with something more than night..." Raymond Chandler

Soooo...

I'm getting to that age...I don't think I'm old--but the people I see on TV, like the contestants on American Idol and The Voice and the Bachelor (excluding the Golden Bachelor) are WAY younger than me, and now when I reference “Sixteen Candles”, no one knows what I'm talking about.

But I don't feel old.

I try to get home to Ohio, to Ashtabula, which is a small town nestled against Lake Erie, once a year. I go to support a golfing fundraiser that's held every July in honor of Chuck Benedict--the big brother of one of my buddies--who died in front of his house while mowing the grass. I don't really care about the golf, or the steak fry after the golf, but I do enjoy going to our local bar, the Crow's Nest, and drinking with my old friends.

2018's event was much the say as it always is: beer-infused golf, a chewy steak and baked potato, then we made our way to the Crow's Nest. The Nest is one of those places that only exist in small towns--a u-shaped bar, neon signs, a jukebox that features Frank Sinatra AND Morgan Wallen; the drinks are cheap and the Guardians/Cavs or Browns are always on the tv; it's dimly lit, and men and women sit in clusters, drinking and talking. The days pass into night with lubricated ease at the Crow's Nest.

That particular night, around 11pm, I sat at the bar with two of my high school friends, Dean and Ray. Both are Italian, both have known each other since they were kids, and though they live in separate states--Ray in Ohio and Dean in New Jersey, and they didn't see each other as much as they would like—they have remained as close as two guys can be. I like to hang with them because they are story tellers. Ray in particular. He could pontificate on any subject known to man, and Dean could match him. As for myself, I am a listener. I sat between them and threw out random topics for them to opine on, like an audience member at an improv show.

That night Dean and Ray talked and talked and talked. They re-hashed and embellished their sex tales, moaned about their knees, talked about mortgages and cars and how to make meatballs, and whatever...I just sat and listened.

The next day I flew back to my home in Los Angeles, Dean went back to New Jersey, and Ray drove back to Columbus.

CHECK OUR OUR PODCAST, OLD PEOPLE THIS WEEK, ON YOUTUBE, SPOTIFY AND APPLE PODCASTS.

Three months later, in mid-October, in the mid-morning, I get a text from another of our buddies. His name is Tony. It said, simply: RAY DIED. What the hell? I made inquiries, and Tony was right--Ray was dead. According to Tony, Ray got up in the morning to go to the gym and he fell over in his living room and died of a heart attack. His wife found him there.

This was on a Friday and they were going to bury him on Tuesday. We are Catholics, and Catholics don't dawdle when it comes to burying people.

I opted not to go back for the funeral. I sent flowers, and on Tuesday evening I started texting my friends to find out how the viewing and the funeral played out. Evidently there was a big crowd, and after they laid Ray to rest, they all went to The Nest and drank.

That evening I texted Dean. I said, "how are you my friend?". He answered, "my wingman is gone. I miss him". I texted back and said, "I'm sorry. He's up in heaven talking some poor fool's head off." He send back a laughing/crying emoji...

The next morning, at five am, I hear a PING. I have a text. I open it up. It's from Dean. It says, "I thought you would want to see this". It was a picture of Ray in his coffin. Dean must have taken it with his iphone.

What the..! It was five am and I was barely awake and there was Ray resting in his coffin. I wrote back, "Thx". What else could I say?

Now I look at that picture every now and then. It's effing morbid, but it is a vivid reminder that life is very, very fleeting. Since that morning, when I leave home each day I kiss my wife and check the location of my children, and I may send them a text or give them a call, because like Ray I may keel over dead in my living room, or worse, drop dead at the office, which is the LAST place that I want to end my life, but the point is: I may not be around a few hours from now and I had damn well better remember it.

TASK:

Would you life your day differently if you knew it was your last? Yes you would. Think about that and conduct your day accordingly.