The Recipe for Guacamole and why I am here

Dia De Los Muertos

A good friend of mine posted on Facebook today in remembrance of all those she has loved and loss and those she has never met at all on this the Day of the Dead.

I’m getting a little misty just writing this because, as many who are close to me and a few I know only through cyberspace but still have a significant place in my heart very well know, I could easily, and by all rights should be,  among those who this holiday celebrates.

But I’m not. Although I am quite a bit worse for the wear, somehow, someway, I am still kicking. And over the last year, I have spent many an hour, whether conscientiously or otherwise, deliberating on just why this is so. Why me? Why have I been spared the impending downward spiral of this mortal coil? Because I am self-important enough to do so, I have decided that it is because the Creator of the Universe thought I had more to bring to the table of Life than I have so far. I mean sure, I have done a little over the years to bring joy and humor and a dash of soul to every person and endeavor that I hold dear. But it hasn’t been enough. And maybe, just maybe, the Creator knew that and so when I got to that Great Turnstile in the Sky, He looked at my card and said, “Nope. You haven’t done it yet. Back of the line please. Next!”

Now, just what ”it” is, I have no earthly notion. That’s the thing about the Creator of the Universe. He’s awful crafty. He can give you all the signs in the world, and you still end up being Kenneth Lay. Or Ted Bundy. Or Mother Theresa or Gandhi. And apparently the only people he communicates with directly are NFL players or George W. Bush, because I haven’t heard one lick from him. Sure, I have talents and skills and passions and a healthy dash of altruism. But I can also be a senseless bastard with little regard for anything but my own id. Such is the nature of the human condition, I guess.

I digress. This was supposed to be about you all, not me. I mean let’s face it, if you are reading this, you cared enough, a lot or a little, to give a damn about what I have to say about anything.

Maybe that’s one of the reasons I’m still kicking. Maybe it’s the only reason. Because of you. It hurts my heart to hear about people that go their whole lives never truly having someone or someones to live with, because of, and for. I am such a lucky man to have the friends I have, the family I have, the life I have been given. And to fully realize that life is a gift and every day you get to wake up, put your shoes on, and have a cup is really Life/God/The Universe’s way of saying “You get another one, home-diggity, try not to screw up and ignore it today.”  I’ll quote from a poem I read a couple days ago that, in my mind, captures it completely. Dig it:

“An invisible God

Who fights unfairly

Loving you through the wars

Unwilling to let you die.

Unwilling to let you lose

Despite your best efforts.”

On this Dia de Los Meurtos, I have you thank for me being alive. I’ll try to hold up my end of the deal.

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