Sad anniversaries

A very old, dear friend of mine passed away three years ago on this very day.

I’ve spent the past three years wondering about the conversations we would be having: the Quicksand reunion, the tumultuous ’90s we spent in New Brunswick, the changes along Route 34 in Matawan, and the distant friends from the past that turned up on Facebook.

I know he would’ve enjoyed the Jesuit reunion, but he would’ve thought Nate Newton’s tribute to him was unneeded.

I think, actually I know, that he would be an Instagram addict.

This October, he would’ve turned 35, and if his schedule was clear, he would’ve totally crashed my upcoming twentieth high school reunion.

I’m pretty sure he would’ve cleared his schedule if I asked.

I think about all of these things, and it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with the anniversary of the date when those possibilities left this world and things changed.

Goose, Converge, a fall night

The reason I always keep my house keys in my pocket isn’t too far fetched. Our former apartment in Jersey City had a front door that was spring loaded, with more recoil than a shotgun. If you walked outside without your keys, you were locked out.

Because of Goose’s constant want to wander around outside, as well as my deep desire to keep him from getting bit by any dogs in the neighborhood, I went out a lot with him, always at night.

On one of those nights, when Heather was at work and I had somehow stumbled back onto the cathartic release of Converge’s 2001 album “Jane Doe,” I let Goose outside. It was fall, and the night was crisp, yet not cold enough to actually enjoy. Continue reading Goose, Converge, a fall night