Here is a little excerpt from a story I wrote a while back with a reference to my cousin Fran. Fran passed away way too early. Life is about living and I can’t get my mind around not doing that. Having just made it through a heart attack I think of this often. The visions become murky. Happy Birthday Fran

So we would march down to the beach in our brand new clothing to look at the ocean. Usually by now it was just starting to get dark. We would find a few horseshoe crabs, dig up some sand fleas and then find some perfect wood for bonfires later in the week. This kept us occupied for all of about eighteen minutes. Usually our beloved cousin Fran would roll up his shorts and wade out up to his ankles looking for ocean treasures. Either that, or he was one with this ritual of summer. As the air-cooled, the water felt that much warmer. The ritual would simply unfold soon after. After about twenty minutes, we were swimming in the ocean attired in our slick new travelling clothes feeling pretty good.

So I broke the law one day in Boulder Colorado. It is a fine line between what we teeter.

We were traveling and dropped off our rental car at a relatively obscure location. As we were walking to our friend’s car, we noticed I no longer had my cell phone, I knew it was nearby because I just checked the Timbers score.

My wife walked over to the car and saw the forlorn phone in the rental car. Only problem was that the key to Rental Car was already in the lock box.

Enter Mcgyver. We got back home, we hatched a plan much to the chagrin on the ladies in our lives. We decided to go back to the Rental Car place and recover the keys. My accomplice (keeping him nameless) brought out a long magnet, some claw tool and a common coat hanger. We walked into the car rental place wearing sunglasses because that is the cool thing to do. They were useless.

We slinked behind the counter and used a camera cell phone to see the keys and narrow down our search. All the while people were mindlessly walking by and they did not seem to care all that much. The gripper tool did not work and finally we used a twisted bent coat hanger to miraculously lift out the keys. Only thing it was to the wrong car. We did eventually retrieve the correct set of keys from the lock box.

In retrospect, oh to be white. Could you imagine if we were two black men, in sunglasses, behind an unmanned counter brandishing MacGyver claws.

No harm no foul. The Timbers neither won nor lost.

Fireflies don’t put on those spectacular summer displays just to entertain us. You’re eavesdropping on the firefly singles bar. Male fireflies cruising for mates flash a species-specific pattern to announce their availability to receptive females. An interested female will reply, helping the male locate her where she’s perched, often on low vegetation.

Fireflies, once really interested, will put together a mixed tape for their prospective flame. There are a few spieces in Northern New Jersey that will impress a prospective mate by it’s bravery. Usually they volunteer for a young kids hole filled peanut butter jar.

Flash three times on the ceiling. If you really want me. That never ends well.

A few desperadoes will hold out for good old Valentine’s Day.

Where all lightning bugs are now dead. Unless they migrate somewhere. Which I doubt.

The life of a lightning bug is more complicated then the average person would think. Mostly because the term average comes into play here. Most people don’t think about the life and love of a lightning bug. A firefly of sorts, a twinkle in the night.

In the late 1960s there was Woodstock, there was a lunar landing and there was the Summer of Soul.

As a kid I was so excited about the space program and people landing on the moon. I read every book, watched every television special and of course our family watched people land on the moon. But I had no idea what was going on in the world.

The summer of Soul was an amazing series of concerts that took place in Harlem, Pretty much the same time Woodstock was happening and we were landing on the moon.

An overwhelming response to people at the festival about the lunar landing was, who really cares about men landing on the moon , yes white man landing on the moon when you weren’t even putting food on the table and we’re being denied basic human rights. I see that perspective

I understand and emphasize. Now take a spaceship to 50 years later and here we go again.

Branson in space: Virgin Galactic founder Richard Branson successfully returned to earth aboard Virgin’s rocket-powered plane, making him the first billionaire to travel to space

Seriously tax these sons of bitches and you will see resources going to where they belong as opposed to a billionaire’s ego. There was a time and place where I thought if I was really rich I would love to go into space. But I’ve grown up since.