Outa Here!

Two more dying days I find preferable to Revelation:



“Nice putt. Good way to end the day. What did you get on that hole, Babe?”

“Put me down for a double bogey, Sweetness, and give me a total. I think I just shot my age.

“Wow, yup, you’re right! A hundred twenty on your hundred and twentieth birthday! Perfect!

“Do we have time for a cold one, or should we get going?”

“I think we should go. Everyone will be back at the house waiting for us to start the party.”

Alrighty then, Sweets, let’s do it.


When we arrive, our ninety-nine and ninety-five year old sons are shooting pool and talking trash to each other. Some things never change.

“You call that a break, Homey? I’ve seen better breaking on dance floors.”

“Don’t give me that, Purty Boy, you couldn’t break a sweat in a steam room. I got your bad break right here.”

Over on the sofa our daughters Kira and Dara are swapping kid stories.

“When Jackson Jr. walked the bases full of Yankees, I swear I was ready to scream. I should have known he’d come through though. He’s just like his daddy and just like his daddy he struck out the side after that. It was really fun to be there.”

“I know what you mean. I was at the ceremony when Lily and Julie picked up their Obamas for community service and also when Julie’s son Jake got the same award. I don’t know which time I was prouder.

At the end of the room, daughter Laura is shepherding a host of great grandchildren into the room to greet us. She is making them all laugh. At ninety-eight she can still do stand-up as well as anyone out there and little kids adore her.

I could sense this was going to be another great family reunion. They all were, really, so I knew this one would be no different. What I didn’t know, was this one would be my last.


++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

We were far up the Pipeline, Petey and me, making slow progress, but enjoying the walk nonetheless. At ninety-seven I was just happy to be walking at all and my dog Petey, no pup himself, was content to plod along with me. I had binoculars in the pouch hanging from my walker and periodically I’d scan the trees looking for howlers and quetzals. The jungle, though, had grown curiously quiet in the last few minutes and I suspected something was amiss; birds and animals hushed, perhaps, by impending danger. Petey’s low growl and raised fur confirmed my suspicions. I glanced at him and saw his lips curl back to show teeth while his growl rose in pitch, becoming louder and more threatening. I had only seen him this way on a couple of occasions and each time it was because we had encountered another dog on the trail; another less than friendly dog. I looked in the direction Petey’s nose was pointing to, expecting to find exactly that, a dog, but although my eyesight “ain’t what it used to be,” I could tell that what lay ahead, crouched in the shadows, was definitely no pooch. This thing, whatever it was, was way too big. I took a few steps backwards - a difficult thing to do with a walker; u-turns are easier - because I didn’t want to take my eyes off what now looked like a moving shadow in the shadows. I was about to execute my u-turn for a, ha ha, quick getaway, when the thing stepped into the light. It was a cat, a jaguar to be precise. But no ordinary jaguar, mind you. No, this grim reaper, this bearer of my impending death, was covered head to tail tip in sleek black fur. Its green eyes were blazing with hunger.