My wife Jennie is absolutely amazing, and in preparation for the movers coming next week, she's got things packed, sorted, tagged with "GO" "NO GO" sticky notes, and in general saving the day. She's got all the knowledge of what needs to be done in her head, because almost every time we've had to move, I've been gone somewhere--either deployed, or on temporary duty, or (like last time) laid up in the hospital. She's a tornado, getting everything done in a flurry of activity, and even though I'm "there with the assist," I'm doing my best to march to the beat of her drum during this time of upheaval. You're the greatest, Jennie.
Last Saturday, I found a used copy of an old Ray Bradbury book, The Toynbee Convector. It had some stories I didn't already know, so I figured I'd pick it up and read it during the next couple of weeks while we move. I looked forward to it. As we all know, Ray Bradbury died a few days later. I still look forward to the book, seeing things for the first time that Mr. Bradbury discovered, but now there's a degree of finality to it: the things he saw and wrote about are a discrete, finite set, and the idea of such limits does not sit well with me. I think he'd feel the same way. As a reader, I want to see more--show me. As a writer, though, it inspires--let me show you some more. From the first exposure I had to Ray Bradbury, Something Wicked This Way Comes, I was a fan. He inspired then, and he inspires now. Thanks, Ray. Vaya con Dios.