Twinkling of an Eye

TOM Fest, 1997 with Sonny from POD and some friends.

I've been thinking lately about the brevity of life. This isn't just in light of the death of Whitney Houston, which I wrote about yesterday. It's just thinking about how old my parents, aunts and uncles are getting and how it seems like yesterday they were younger then I am now.


My dad recently sent me a picture of him holding me. I couldn't be more then a moth or two old. In the picture, he's younger then I am now. More then that, he looks like me. It was over half a life time ago for him. Now, he's sixty and, slowly but surely, he's slowing down. 

I saw a picture of my grandfather as a toddler. His bald head, smiling, sandy at the beach, He looked just like me when I was that age. He's dead and gone now. Surely he never thought he'd be old. This is especially odd because he was old the entire time I knew him.

I recently wrote short poem about aging and how quickly it happens. You can read that here.


I'm working on a short piece related to this subject that I intend to publish soon. This piece, though, isn't whining about getting older. Getting older is certainly better then the alternative. Rather, I'm writing this to remind myself, and anyone who reads this that, life is short. Don't waste it. One hundred years from now, you will be gone. How will you be remembered? Will you be remembered?

Christmas 1991. Why was I wearing a California Raisin's T shirt?

I'm reminded of the dash on the cemetery. I was born in 1980. In my obituary, will be my date of birth followed by a dash and then my year of death.


What will my dash say? I'll find out someday. it turns out, I'm not immortal.