Between the Dashes

I've been reading all the comments about Skip Miller and idly wondering what will they say when I die. Skip was a gentleman, endlessly gracious and giving and while nobody much has said it, Skip was fine as wine. Maybe that sounds flip to some, but it would make Skip grin, no doubt. No bad posts or thoughts for Skip. Not many people will that be true about. I remember on the occasion of the death of a pretty famous member of a singing group, we were standing at the funeral and one man said "I'm waiting for (group leader's name goes here) to die, because I want to go piss on his grave." Whew. That was funny and it was also deep. Do I have a chance to change things in case anybody wants to piss on my grave? Well, they say about me in life that I have talent and a bad temper. I am devoted to my family and to work. But there is never enough time to max out the talent, to do all the things you want to do with your family. Pundits always say it's what you do between the dash (your birth and death dates) that counts. Skip was given 61 years between his dash --not nearly enough for those of us who could use some more Skip. Not enough for KC and the kids or Tony or Miller or Suzanne and so many others. If you ask a little kid how long 61 years is, he will just stare at you trying to imagine such a giant number of years. If you ask a retiree how long 61 years is, he will say not nearly enough. Time seems to be moving slowly this weekend. Maybe I'm just running through Jello. I can't seem to focus because one more death seems like the straw for this camel. Can't clean up, can't fire up my creative self. Not much Labor happening on this Labor Day. When I told my dear friend in Argentina that I was taking this harder than I expected. He said, "maybe you will rearrange your priorities now." Hmm. Not knowing how much time I have, I've just chosen to waste some of it--thinking about what's between my dashes and what I need to do about it. I'm suddenly hoping I can do some things so folks will be somewhat kinder when talking about Ruth Adkins Robinson