Loose Ends

Les and I were friends more than forty years ago, and though we hadn't kept up regular contact I always treasured the occasions we were able to get together. We shared a love of puns, that most flagrantly cerebral form of humor. On one memorable occasion we, along with five or six like-psyched friends, left ourselves exilerhausterated from a rapid-fire pun exchange that ricocheted at least a dozen times. There is no way I'll ever remember the details (who was keeping notes?), but it had something to do with flying and ended with a supplication: "Our feather..". Yeah, Okay, you had to be there, and I was. And Les had the last word.

That wasn't unusual. He had the last word on quite a number of topics. This was because he was smart, damn smart, and he knew it. That never bothered me, honestly. I'm fairly smart myself, and I also have a cast iron ego. So, I never have felt intimidated by someone who was smarter than me. Anyway, it never stopped me from arguing with him, and I think he appreciated that. Hell, sometimes I was right.

Well. here's what I mean about loose ends. Living gets in the way of life. What really happens is that you spend all your time dealing with what it takes to survive, and put off doing what your heart and soul requires. Now that he's gone, I can think of a dozen things I'd like to say to him, and I'll add to that as long as I live. Too bad. You see, as long as you live, the people who used to be a part of your life continue to call upon you from time to time, but you only get to reply to yourself, ... unless you believe in ghosts, which I don't. I believe in memories, and that's another name for loose ends.

John Leslie Duncan
08/05/1939-06/01/2009

Godbless,
Daddy