FFS, 2016. We get it. You're the bad boy. The tough guy. The nihilist who is going to burn down the building with all of us, including yourself, in it. We are really tired of playing your game. I know the focus is on big name celebrities, but this has been a shitty year all the way down the line. You took super famous people. You took moderately famous people. You took down historic cities full of civilians. You took them buy the bus and plane load. And I'm pretty sure you took enough relatively unknown people who were our friends, one or two for each and every one of us. I do not know a single person who hasn't felt the loss keenly at a personal or over-arching cultural level. This year is not fun anymore for any of us. We just want to tell you that it is time for you to go away. Forever. Go down in history as one of the worst years ever. And don't leave your stink all over things to linger into 2017. I know you want to. Don't be that guy.
I sat in writers group tonight, knowing that I hadn't written to the prompt, mostly because I forgot what the prompt was. When they told me that it was "describe a memory from high school," first I wished I had done it, because--as this blog can attest--I love doing that. Then I sat there ruminating a little bit and thought about why we react like we do to the deaths of Carrie Fisher or Prince or Alan Rickman. It seemed so simple all of a sudden. They represent our childhoods. My parents' generation admired people like Muhammad Ali or John Glenn, and were told Fidel Castro was the boogeyman. My generation grew up wearing the funny hair of Princess Leia or the purple and lace of Prince. My kids grew up with the complex heroic story arc of Severus Snape. Most of us can point to some moment in our youths where David Bowie entranced us. And if your young life was never touched by Gene Wilder, what sort of childhood did you have? No, most of us never knew any of these artists or sports figures or national heroes personally. But the things that they did, the things that gave them fame, are the milestones that we measure our lives against. More of these losses of my childhood influences are on the horizon. Like millions of nerds in the English-speaking world, I bonded with my teenage friends over Monty Python. Do you think my heart doesn't break a little bit every time I see a tweet about Terry Jones' decline due to dementia? I learned in high school that I too would become a sexual being able to make my own choices, and found my inner extrovert by repeatedly attending midnight showings of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. I recite a tiny prayer for health every time I think about Tim Curry's fight to recover from his stroke. I don't want the reminder that my childhood favorites are really just fragile humans. I don't think any of us are ever ready to put the good memories of the past to bed forever.
Our Rotary program today was all about antiques. One of our members is a bit of an expert, buying and selling and collecting all sorts of things. She gave us tips about auctions, and told us what does and does not currently hold or gain value. (And she echoed what my daughter always says -- if you have silver, use it! If you have good linens, use them! And if you have a piece of furniture that is rough around the edges, repurpose it!) Most of my house is filled with antiques or vintage items that represent the personal history of my family. These are the things that have meaning to me, not because of their dollar value, but because of the hands that touched them before me. It's likely that this is where the germ for tonight's blog originated. This was my first look into the past, and what it means to me. It makes me want to have dinner on my grandma's Spode plates tomorrow, and dessert out of Granny's crystal pudding cups. It makes me happy that I'm walking on the rug my dad bought when he was deployed to Thailand when I was a toddler. I should go play my grandmother's piano a little before bed, and sight-read from great-aunt Annette's music books. My childhood has meaning to me, and if I let it go unused, that is my loss.
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