Living Outloud

Driving west from Riverside, we crested the hill to then view a sight that is so familiar and so pleasant and it was today more than ever because this was one moment of brightness in a mostly rainy day.

Emotionally it felt rather rainy too. We were returning from the 11 a.m. funeral of a dear friend, Joe Branco. We were stunned when we got the phone call a few days back from his widow that he was dead. Joe was 5 months older than Mr. Fun and he & Paula, his high school sweetheart, were married 1 month after us. For a time our 2 kids went to school with their 2 kids when they were all teenagers.

At the funeral today we did some crying, some laughing, and lots of reflecting. We cried, not for Joe -- no, Joe had his reservation made. He didn't have a doubt about his destination. We all cried for us and missing him. We cried for his family--his wife and kids who were so shocked by his going. We laughed because Joe was more than funny. He was entertaining, motivating, and delightful. We reflected about his life. He was born on July 4th, so it shouldn't surprise anyone that he was a firecracker! Always popping off with something funny. He was a family man--idolized his wife and kids and grandkids. He was a furniture maker and restorer. He loved to garden and fish and drive his tractor at their second home in Oklahoma.

About a week ago Joe was supposed to substitute teach a Bible study at their little church in Riverside because the pastor was out of town. Joe got there early to set-up the room and then he sat down to rest and wait for the others to arrive. When the others arrived they found Joe dead. (Probably a heart attack, but we haven't heard the final report.)

Mr. Fun and I have talked at length about death today . . . the desire to die quickly without the agony of a lingering illness, but the staggering shock for the spouse, family, and friends left behind. We've asked each other if we'd be ready if the other one was gone in an instant. We can speculate the answer, but we really cannot know if we would be or not. What we do know is that we want to love intensely and passionately, because this moment will be gone in a second and time is the one thing that we cannot buy back or recycle.

So today we cried, we laughed, we reflected, and we learned -- learned all over again to treasure one another and to savor each moment. I've been including a Valentine poem each day the past several days . . . because of Joe's death I'm going to turn to the back of the book and use Ted Kooser's last poem today and I hope you'll understand why as you read it.

In his book of Valentines: Poems Kooser writes in the introduction about composing a valentine poem each year and mailing it to dozens of women (with his wife's permission). Over the years his mailing list grew to 2,600 names. So the cost was getting prohibitive. He sent out one last poem with the announcement that it was the last one. Then the next year his book was published and he included one final poem dedicated to his wife Kathleen. He explains that last poem this way, "You'll see that this last poem is indeed the poem of a man who has careened beyond the romantic into an altogether different age."

The Hog-Nosed Snake

The hog-nosed snake, when playing dead,
Lets its tongue loll out of its ugly head.

It lies on its back as stiff as a stick;
If you flip it over it'll flip back quick.

If I seem dead when you awake,
Just flip me once, like the hog-nosed snake.

by Ted Kooser
Presidential Professor of the University of Nebraska
former U.S. poet laureate
winner of the Pulitzer Prize in Poetry

Good night from Southern California.
Rosie (& Mr. Fun), aka Carol