Monday, April 11, 2005

“M” is for Monday, yes, and it’s also for mortality. My apartment building, situated cozily in downtown Wilmette, is a few clicks away from a funeral home. Perhaps it’s because I’m not observant enough, or possibly it’s because I don’t sleep in the wild, but the only thing that seems dead is the funeral home itself. The parking lot is perennially empty. Door’s always shut. No hearses making their forlorn deliveries.

I saw some cars parked there once, a veritable anomaly because the lot usually entertains skateboarders, bikers, and people playing ball. You’re tempted to believe the Norshore transcended death, sometime after eating a plate of petit fours but definitely before wiping its fingers on the nearest Coton de Tulear. And then the funeral home came alive over the weekend.

I was walking to the supermarket when I smelled something burning. The odor probably came from a household desperate to cling onto the Chicago winter, I reasoned, until I saw people filing in and out of the parlor. It was a wake. There was a fireplace going. Some people were dabbing their eyes, others were laughing, one woman whipped out her cellphone, and all of them were presented with a very real picture of finality.

We normally don’t talk about death. Certainly killing and needless violence creep into our discussions, it can’t be helped, yet there’s a distinction. If you look at some quotes from Woody Allen, for example, it’s safe to say he thinks about it a lot. Whether that’s advisable or not, I can’t say, though you get the distinct impression he’s just going to lean back in the director’s chair and give up the ghost.

One thing’s for sure: I feel older. Much of my brain is filled with new facts and memories and stray bits of Sour Patch Kids, but at the same time my reflexes are getting slower. Time was, I’d play all of Super Mario Bros. 3 in a single sitting, one life, no flinching. These days, I pick up a controller and Mario turns to me and shakes his head. He’s like, “Yeah, the princess is in another goddamn castle, but I don’t think you’ll make it, let alone remember how to get there. And sweet Moses’s pants, it doesn’t matter how many ‘shrooms or fire flowers I eat, ALL THE HERBAL REMEDIES IN THE WORLD CAN’T STOP YOU FROM GUIDING ME INTO THE PITS OF UNDOING.”

40 to 50 years from now, how’s it gonna be? I can see myself looking down at my wrinkled hands and saying, “Man, I’m really tired. It’s been a good run. I think I’m pretty much done.” Sad? Maybe. But it doesn’t have to be.

Also, my guinea pigs have been loudly humping each other at about 7:15 AM every morning. Spring is here, apparently.