Love and Death

I’ve tried and failed to write several posts today. Clearly the brain doesn’t want to think about books or dancing or crafting or any of the other usual things I babble about here. What I am thinking about lately is a certain person I care for a lot, and the rash of celebrity deaths that have occurred since the start of the year.

As it happens, I have a short tale that brings those things together.

The sixth of June, 2012 is an important date for two reasons:

  1. It is the day Ray Bradbury died.
  2. It is the day Sven and I went on our first date.

These two statements are more related than you might think–then again, if you personally know the Sven and I, their confluence may not be that surprising after all.

    As we perched on a sidewalk table at a trendy Italian restaurant, among the (slightly) awkward silences inherent in the First Date, it came to light that we had both taken notice of the passing of that Pillar of Science Fiction, Ray Bradbury. We each remembered our own experience discovering Mr. Bradbury and which of his works we most enjoyed. I ranted for at least ten minutes on how his arguably-most-famous book FAHRENHEIT 451 was–in my opinion–a sub-par introduction to this master of concise and impactful language.  

That conversation at the dinner table was one of many topics bounced back and forth between the bread-sticks and the after-dinner mints, but it demonstrated a few things. One, we were a similar flavor of nerd, having read and enjoyed some of the same books as youngsters. Two, he was willing to sit and listen to me chatter animatedly about stuff I like for a non-insignificant amount of time. Which, for me, is important. I have many thoughts. I like to share them.

    Third, and finally, it was a reminder that there was a larger world going on beyond our little insular moment, but then, all that mattered was the moment. Famous people come and go, monuments of culture rise and fall, but there at that outdoor table in downtown Syracuse, a thing began that would change our lives irrevocably.

Thanks, Ray Bradbury–and, obviously, thanks Sven for listening to me ramble about him, me, and everything else.

 

 

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