For those who knew and loved him, the Bookman was one of those characters, you overlooked the strange bits and understood what what was really important. The Bookman was part of a lime that encompassed a bunch of, dare I say it, misfits, people who really didn't quite fit in anywhere else. So much that we formed our own little group and then to our collective surprise, found that other people wanted in. We know who we are, Richard, despite our differences, your friends still love you and wish you Godspeed.
Seems that in the last ten years, but perhaps it's been longer, the funerals of my contemporaries have outweighed what could be considered the normal course of things. Weddings, christenings, anniversaries have come in far behind hospital visits and the Grim Reaper. I wonder what it is about my generation; though we have better access to information, medical treatment and our work consists more of keyboards than rakes and hoes; that our longevity is far eclipsed by our great grandparents and grand parents. And realised, it has come down to HOW we live.
This morning brought a touch of melancholy.....but why? Death is inevitable for all of us. Preferable to suffering to be sure. We can question why, but really, does it change anything? The secret is to live, to live your life with quality. To know what are the things you can put up with, the things you can do without, the people you love and who love you. It is about pleasure, even pain, balance, not living with regret but with appreciation.
So to my friend the Bookman, thank you for the spirited conversations, the weird little asides, the books you made, the art you shared, thank you for you. Thank you for appreciating me just for me. For making me smile, driving me nuts on occasion. For always believing that I had talent, pushing me to write, without you and Adele, there would be no Reflections.
Richard Bolai 1962-2010