Awww, man!

George Carlin died yesterday of heart failure at age 71. I remember sitting on our old green velvet couch listening to his comedy routine on tape as a teeny kid, even though I had NO idea what he was talking about. I remember asking Mom if I could listen to the tape "with the bad words."

I hate it when a part of my childhood dies. It reminds me that I'm closer to death, too, and I'm not particularly LOOKING FORWARD to the end (although you might think I am to listen to my bitching and whining sometimes.) Actually, we've had a few lessons about death recently. A few days ago, a possum got hit by a car on the other side of our block. We've walked by each day and watched how it changes. Yesterday the maggots came. I explained about the flies and how the possum made a good dinner for the fly babies. We also regularly "rescue" dead chicks who have fallen or been pushed from their nests. We have a special spot under a bush where we put them. Zoe's been very interested to see that they slowly (or not so slowly) disappear. The sweet thing is that she likes to say a blessing over the things she finds. She asks God to take care of them. I know it might not be a popular thing to do to some, but it can't hurt.

So yeah--George Carlin is dead. And Richard Pryor died awhile ago. The way I see it, Neil Diamond should watch his step.

(Oy, what GUILT that last statement dredged up! I say it hoping that Mr. Diamond is hale and hearty and NOWHERE near death! Go, Neil!)