To sleep, perchance to dream....

Hamlet was obviously a very tormented soul. The fact that Shakespeare so artfully wrote his misgivings about peaceful sleep even in death is a little unsettling. I choose to believe that in death we do get to enjoy peace. Normally death is a subject to which I do not comment on. The great bingo game in the sky is how I often refer to it. When your number is called it is time to go. At 49 years of age I should have been to more than three funerals. But I have not. And sadness is something that I have generally saved for the living. But the times they are a changing.

Yesterday during a conversation about rock and roll a name from the past came up. Tommy Bolin was a great guitarist who overdosed right as his star was rising. I happened to do a lot of drinking with his younger brother Ricky back in the day in Dallas in the early 1980's. He never got over Tommy's death. It was always right near the surface when Ricky and I started the party. He moved back to Iowa to be with his family shortly after that and I quit drinking and doping in 1985. So after having my memory jarred yesterday I looked up Ricky. Or more precisely, I looked up his obituary. He died in 1994 on August 23. Sadness couldn't hide this time. We were good friends but for a very short period of time. Judging by the wording of the article the party never stopped for Ricky. For those of us who are subject to abusing alcohol all the way to the grave I know how Ricky went. And that made me feel worse.

But something was still tugging at me last night. And then today the news about another friend passing away was forwarded to me. John Steakley was a golf partner, business partner and friend. His sense of humor and passion for debate was tireless. He also never hit a bad golf shot. A million reasons why it didn't turn out well but none of them due to him. It was part of his charm. And even though John could be in your face at times you always knew where his heart was. He was never shy about offering an opinion on most any subject with knowledge to back it up. His stories of writing his novels were inspiring to me. Because he didn't have to. He chose to. John was a man's man and a true character. I used to tell him he was like John Wayne to me. He would smile and wait for the punchline. "John Wayne who had been kicked in the head by his horse" and he would roar with laughter. It may be that laugh that I will miss the most. To sleep...perchance to dream well my friend.



Till next........