Everyone dies, you know.

There’s no use denying it. And the older you get — the closer you come to that inevitability — the more you start thinking about things like what you’ve done with your life, what you wish you’d done (or not done) with your life, and what you’re going to miss out on after you’ve left this life. And yesterday, while commemorating the life (and loss) of one of my personal heroes, my mind took a detour in that last direction. As usual, it came up with some funny thoughts. (That’s funny as in “strange,” not funny as in “ha-ha” — though there were a few of those as well.)

Obviously, most of us would say that we will miss being here for the lives of our families: children, grandchildren, spouse, etc. That’s a given. But beyond that, if today were my last, I would sorely miss . . .

Having my book published. Yes, that’s the book that’s been sitting, nearly finished, for the past year, hoping some Prince Charming of a publisher will come knocking on my door out here in the Georgia countryside, holding the glass slipper that will fit only my gnarled old foot. Of course, that should tell me to get off my gnarled old ass (assuming I’m still here tomorrow) and do something about it. But we’ll see.

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Haagen-Dazs. My guilty pleasure, especially coffee flavor. I openly admit to having a little 3.6-ounce cup of it every evening, and occasionally an extra “dose” now and then when I just can’t resist or I’m having a bad day. I hope they have ice cream in Heaven (if that’s where I’m going); otherwise, it won’t really be that heavenly.

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Midsomer Murders reruns. There are still some I haven’t quite figured out, even after half a dozen viewings. Those Barnaby detective chief inspectors are brilliant, and let’s face it . . . if there’s any reality to the characterizations, the British criminal mind is positively, diabolically genius! Sick . . . And genius.

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Downton Abbey – the third movie. If I lived to be 150, there could never be enough Downton Abbey. It’s like Haagen-Dazs for the soul.

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The Election. You know — the election. November 5, 2024. Trump vs. Biden . . . excuse me, Trump vs. Harris. I just have to know whether or not to be glad I’m dead.

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Fall. My favorite season, when the heat and humidity finally lift and the air becomes crisp and cool, the leaves change to the most amazing colors, and . . . Oh, wait a minute. I’m not in New England any longer. Oh, well . . . it’s still nicer than the summer heat.

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Vladimir Putin, Dmitry Peskov, Elon Musk, Donald Trump . . . and all the other easy bull’s-eyes I have so much fun firing at from day to day in my “Blog About Everything.” Thanks for being my targets, guys; there probably wouldn’t have been a blog without you.

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And . . . not really finally, but just to wind this up before it becomes too long for anyone to want to read . . .

My Blog. It hasn’t gone viral. Hell, it hasn’t even caught a cold. But my friends seem to have enjoyed it, and writing it has been a great joy to me. And, since I expect to survive for a while longer, I intend to keep writing it . . . at least as long as my iPad holds out.

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Oh, and one more thing. I’ll tell you something I will definitely not miss: Freakin’ Christmas In July!!!

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
7/26/24