Sit Down Comedy … September 25th, 2020

Jonathots Daily Blog

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Finally, a crazy idea that has its day.

All my life, I wanted to tell Earth the truth. To a certain degree I have done so, but I have reserved this particular statement for the occasion of my demise,

I thoroughly enjoyed my stay on Planet Earth.

I cannot understand why so many people are so bitchy about it.

The climate is pretty good—and if it’s not to your liking you can move around until you find the sunrise and sunset of your preference. After all, there is snow if you want it, rain if you need it, mountains to climb and valleys to plant.

What in the hell more do we need?

Please understand one thing: It is not acceptable to sit on the mountain and scream at the valley.

You are also not allowed to think that nice people are sons of bitches and pigeons just because they choose to be kind.

It is time to be militaristic about LOVE. Love does not have an army, so to speak, but it does have ammunition. It ranges from tenderness to intelligence to intuitiveness.

Love can rock the goddamn world.

• The medical field does not work without it.
• The government is being debunked from ignoring it.
• The church is pious when separated from it.

Find good and you will find God.

It’s that extra little “o” that guarantees it.

Goodbye, human race.

I think you have a chance—if you insert love every time you want to do nothing.

Things I Learned from R. B. (September 6th, 2020)

Jonathots Daily Blog

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Episode 31

July 19^th.

R. B.’s birthday.

It arrived with a horrific sense of timing. In the midst of his daily demise, how would it be possible to foster a celebration of his birth? Yet I was fully aware that R. B. knew it was his birthday. He didn’t need leave this planet feeling he was absent sentiment.

So I planned it.

I picked up pulled pork barbecue, which was his favorite, a chocolate cake with butter cream icing (which was my favorite) and got permission from the hospice to use the dining room for a private party of about twenty-five people. The facility also graciously offered kitchen facilities for our use.

I took the precaution of talking to each person attending about the nature of the situation. In our family, it is customary to give a verbal tribute to the person being honored at birthday celebrations, telling them how valuable and precious they had been during the year.

Trying to avoid awkwardness and also R. B.’s fatigue, I suggested that the guests share one sentence stating their favorite part of R. B.

Considering how bizarre the circumstances were, the party ended up being rather intimate, especially when one of the young children told R. B. that he was very sad that his friend was dying.

This was too much for R. B.

His eyes burst forth with tears, which had been held in reserve for some unpronounced occasion.

He wept.

He sobbed.

And through his tears he proclaimed, “I don’t want to die.”

The room was hushed—emotions thick with tenderness and pain. Nobody ate much of the barbecue. The cake was sampled. It seemed that the circle of souls who came to salute R. B. moved in closer and closer as the afternoon pressed on.

I guess if a man has to die and is granted a send-off, this could have been one of the better ones ever to be conceived.

After about an hour-and-a-half, one of the nurses arrived to take R. B. back to his room.

It was time for final thoughts. Something needed to be said.

I was trying to come up with a spirited closing for the event when Lily, my granddaughter, piped up with some wonderful four-year-old wisdom. “See you tomorrow,” she said with the cheeriest voice I’ve ever heard.

Everyone applauded, laughed and clapped some more as R. B. made his exit from the room.

As he was leaving, I thought to myself that I was probably the world’s greatest hypocrite.

For I certainly did not honor this fellow. He had been cruel to me—perhaps treacherous. What did I think I was achieving by hosting a party for my enemy?

As I was standing there, staring off in the distance, one of the guests came up and hugged my back. She leaned up and whispered in my ear, “Congratulations. You gave him what he needed.”

Exactly. She was right.

It wasn’t about me.

Of course.

It wasn’t about me.

 

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