14 August 2008

Look.  I'm getting tired of stomping my foot and repeating myself.  Let me try it one more time:  nobody else gets to die until I do.   OK?  I'm tired of funerals and grief and pain.

There have been two deaths that touched our extended world in the last two days.  While neither was a personal loss for us (one guy we didn't even know of, much less know), they were both too tragic and people who were too young.

Jeri's soon-to-be-husband Phil sent a text message yesterday asking for details about Paul Narr.  I turns out Paul Narr was a good friend of Phil's, who committed suicide this week.  He was 42 and a Davis police officer who leaves behind a wife, two kids age 5 and 2, a twin brother, a sister, and his parents.

A senseless tragedy.  I'm sure it makes sense only to Paul Narr himself.  The pain he must have been suffering to take his own life when he seemed to have everything going for him (at least on paper) must have been overwhelming.  I wonder if he thought about the pain he was leaving behind for all those who loved him.   Or was the pain so all-encompassing it blotted all of that out?

Then last night we went off to Sacramento to see Evita.  When we got home there were two messages, letting us know of the death of Ken MacKenzie.

Ken was the son of Natalie and Malcolm, whom we have known for nearly 40 years.  We met through the Davis Comic Opera company.  Their kids were in school with our kids.  Ken was in school (and the jazz choir) with Tom and Dave.

I've never known parents who were more proud of their kids and their accomplishments.  Natalie practically glows whenever you ask about any of her three kids.  I know the anguish they are feeling right now.

Ken was 38 years old and was married two years ago.  He died of an apparent heart attack.  My god, who has a heart attack at 38?

It's one of those "did God really get mixed up?" sorts of things.  When Michele died, she was 65 years old and in apparent good health, and her husband is pushing 80.  Whoever thought it would be Michele who would go first?

Ken's father has suffered a stroke and has been fighting back from that for several years.  Who would think that it would be the son who would die from a heart attack?

Sometimes I just don't understand why things happen.  All I know is that I'm tired of going to funerals and memorials services for people who died too young.  Doesn't God have enough new young people with all the deaths from the war in Iraq?  Or maybe this reinforces the old addage that "only the good die young." 

I'll be around for a long, long time.

I've been watching a lot of Olympics this week, seeing oddball sports like archery and handball (which I did not realize could be a team sport).   I do have a few comments and questions.  Feel free to weigh in if you have the answers.

In the opening ceremony it seems they played "Scotland the Brave" on the bagpipes a lot.  What is it with China, bagpipes and Scotland?

How would you like to grow up known as the Milli Vanilli of the Olympics?

Why do male volleyball players wear shorts and t-shirts, while female players wear bikinis?

Is "Misty Hymen" the best name for a swimmer ever?

Greco Roman wrestling makes me feel like I'm watching the puppies play.

Does every team sport insist on double high-fiving everybody on your team, your coaches, and other support personnel, or is it only gymnastics?

Is it just me or is MSNBC afternoon coverage of the games really Entertainment Tonight with parallel bars?

PHOTO OF THE DAY

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MILES TO NOWHERE:  67 miles