BRADY DOES THE BREASTSTROKE
(This one's for Winston)

Went this afternoon down toward the beach to a large and renowned supermarket of the AmeriCal kind whose Grand Canyon aisles I love to wander, soaking up the full spectrum of largesse on offer-- the football fields of ice cream choices and the shorelines of beer selections, all unknown in my honorable country of residence.

The acreage of root beer alone always gives me pause, as do the Everests of cheeses, the cliffs of wines. Today, like one without a compass I stumbled into the Eden of the baked goods section and there in the distance beheld - do my eyes deceive me - what appeared to be an elaborate architecture of pies that Antonio Gaudi would have admired greatly, a Sagrada Familia of pies. Drawing nearer, I beheld towers of pies of apple, chocolate creme, key lime, lemon meringue, coconut creme, cherry, berry, pecan - the list outruns my pen - all clearly on personal terms with heaven.

As I drew nearer, my eyes already swimming as in a sea of pies with their frothy peaks and scalloped crusts, all I could I do was dive in mentally and perform the breaststroke, the butterfly, the crawl, and snorkel to the luscious depths, then return to the crust, roll onto my back and just float in supreme deliciousness-- the mind can do wondrous things far from shore in an ocean of pies.

Didn't buy anything though, since I still had a Gibraltar of cherry pie a la mode to finish at home-- but now I know where they are.

This is good, for there is truth in pies that cannot be plumbed elsewhere.

WINSTON

Received the sad news that my long-time blog buddy Winston Rand has suddenly passed away, just a day or two after leaving one of his always uplifting comments on a post of mine.

I'd never met Winston, or even spoken to him, just luckily got to know him through words over years, and always looked forward to his observations. I knew him in that way you can when you read the writings of a person who loves the spirit that lives in the flow of thought shared with kindred spirits, as in the unique relations of the blog. I never would have 'met' Winston were it not for this new technology that has so privileged us all.

So often, Winston was the first to leave a comment on something I'd posted, his words showing me that he was a kind man and an optimist - a combination of integrity that the world can always use more of - ever looking to the bright side of even dark things. There was light in all his words-- his empathy for that styrofoam cup in the midst of heavy traffic is a perfect example of the depth and perception of his observations, and stands as testament to a good and caring man. Those feelings of mine were borne out to the full when I read the touching words written by Winston's wife ("Roomie," as as he lovingly called her) that form the final post on his blog, Nobody Asked, where Winston can always be visited.

Enjoy heaven, Winston. I hope to meet you there in person before too long, if I can change my habits in time.

You always added sunshine to my day.