R.I.P.: Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett, Ed McMahon & The golden TV era

I wish I had the appropriate words to express what is necessarily a difficult time for those who love and adored Farrah Fawcett , Ed McMahon and Michael Jackson. Their life was apart of Americana; they were a memorable part of the art form that was the ubiquitous TV land.

As members of the Greatest Generation and the Boomers fade out into just the lasting individual memories, outlandish laughs and smiles, and quirky classic videos and sounds, it brings to mind how quick it all goes away.

The fame and fortunes - Ed McMahon was in foreclosure and Michael Jackson was nearly broke- the looks and usual health - Fawcett inspiring battle against cancer decimated her - can be taken so fast. So fast.

Most remember Christopher Reeve's struggles and strength after his paralysis. And it is a reminder how uncertain it all is: life.

We can wake up, plan stuff, get the family involved (or no) and take the day by the horns. Then, it finally happens - a tragedy - and we don't wake up anymore. Others, such as Fawcett knew the odds were stacked against her - and yet she fought well - and acquired the greatest gift: The value of the time and friends and love, while here.

The hardest lesson will ever learn is the end of life - as we finally learn the secrets to it all - we have to take that lesson to beyond and to those we all ready missed.

Those of us left behind have the ubiquitous TV, a mountain climb, a clear sandy beach, a perfect corn field, a hustling and bustling downtown, a mountain lake, or a song, to remind us of you, the departed.

So here's a song for them all:
The Righteous Brothers - Unchained Melody

Good Bye Friends.

Michael Jackson's Bad (my favorite)

It's Boredom --End Life: A feeling to lose in a shark attack

Didn't know what to say or feel today. I was bored. Not your standard boredom. The likelihood of feeling that standard boredom the same way, every day is pretty remote. It's random. Like a blog.

We (or I) spend(t) it dreaming. Dreaming that the sun would never set. And our eyes love it. We spend seconds on the happiest moments of our lives, and figure, it could get better. Doing something comes to mind. But not for long. We daydream about great places to be, great ideas come to finality, great persons yet to be met in our lives. It's fun -- for a spell.

I get emotional over it. The thoughts disappear. When I look at the fading sunset of a day, knowing I didn't do what I was meant to do, meet who I was meant to know, or go the places I was harbingered to go, a bit of us must fade away...the time is lost. And immortality is the only escape.

The passage of a day is dependent on our interaction within it. How the seconds pass is usually a matter of oneness with the moment. A quick day has us doing all kinds of things -- moving items, ourselves, talking to people of worth, determining things on the fly -- whereas, a slow one, has us sitting, sleeping, watching, observing much of nothing or nothing that's real.

One of my readers mentioned swimming with sharks, and I think that describes an activity that time would spin by rather quickly. Placed on the razor's edge of a eating machine, as you faced mortality would make time nearly irrelevant, moving so quickly, while trying to escape to fight for more days, months and years. Your senses, sight, sound and feeling, would be on high alert - and no one would figure you were uninspired at that instant.

I find solace in knowing I have one more day ahead. Designing it to not be too bored. Designing it to take advantage of whatever small abilities and realities I can. Discovering if I had done enough to warrant remembrance -- knowing I hadn't --yet when it is all over, that is the human condition to desire some remembrance as being here.

How many have passed away without that? How long did it take to forget them? Who was the last person to remember them personally? Who remembered them via a book, a reading about them, even in a dusty old log book of death? What is the average amount of time before we are forgotten by our offspring?

I suppose it is best to get out there and take the shark by the fins and ride the wave. Or we'll not like the answers resulting from our passing.