You Fought a Good fight

 Fare travels, Mike. You fought a good fight.

Standing beside MIke's bed in the VA hospital, I was filled with sadness and thankfulness. Thankful that I had known this man for so many years as a truly good friend. Our conversations through the years were sometimes mere laugh fests and sometimes extremely deep.

Since his passing I have reconnected with Mike's best friend and sidekick from high school. Sharing our memories of those days of carefree youth has been sweet. Reminds me of life surrounded by orchards, drives to Santa Cruz and picnics at Steven's Creek Park, basketball games in our respective gyms, and the night Mike rolled our friend Gavin's parents Mercedes.

I imagine Mike sipping brandy with Hemmingway in some tropical other-world filled with joy and contentment discussing all their favorite books and classic movies and the meaning of life.

"Friendship is not a jewel or a coin or a gift

Jewels and coins and gifts don’t die

Friendship is not a flower or blown glass;

Friendship is not fragile

Friendship is not a poem or a melody

Because friendship cannot be forgotten

Friendship is a symphony

With grand overtures

Melodic harmonies

and unforgettable phrases

punctuated by Attacking staccatos, Vibrant arpeggios then peaceful interludes

And sometimes rests Followed by thoughtful segues

All held together by a coherent structure

called Respect"

(Ellis Reyes Apr 2021)

Frightening

Hi Friends! Hope you're all well.

When I was 7 or 8 years old I read an article in the Readers Digest magazine my parents subscribed to. The article was written in the voice of another 7 or 8 year old. She was in  Czecholslovakia in the 1950's.

Her story begins with her being awakened in her bed in the wee hours of the morning by a deep rumble that shook her bed. 

I don't remember how she discovered that the rumble was not an earthquake but was actually a Soviet tank rolling down her street, but I remember her fear. 

I remember her fear when soldiers broke down the door to her home and dragged her father away.

I remember her fear and misery when as she talks about never seeing her father again. He disappeared along with the fathers, uncles, grandfathers of many of her friends.

I also remember the fear I experienced while reading her story and the relief I felt when my father reassured me that we live in America. 

"What happened to that little girl and her family will never happen to us."

Years and years later, when Donald Trump announced his candicacy for president, my father shared with me how frightening it was that a man of that temperment could be seriously considered for the highest office in our country.

Dad shared with me that this man had the same attributes as Hitler, Mussolini and other despicable men. Men who lacked character, compassion or simple humanity.

My dad passed away in 2018, at almost 90 years old. I miss him with all my heart but I can't tell you how relieved I am that he is not here today to witness our country so close to losing our way of life, our democracy; to witness how close we are to having tanks rumbling down our neighborhood streets to round up those of us who have declared outloud what we think of Trump and his minions.

The good news after today's Supreme Court decision on presidential immunity is that I have a terminal disease. I may not be here if the Cheeto Banditio wins the election. The bad news is that my grandchildren will inherit a world we never could imagine for ourselves.

I am afraid for them. I am afraid for women, for LGBTQ+ community, for minorities, for disabled, for the elderly, for the impoverished. 

I am afraid for the United States of America.