The Fade, The Ghost, and The Thank You

Ah, the first 50 were a blast.  The folks took us around the country as pop worked in Hollywood, Bayou country, the desert, the land of 10,000 lakes, Manhattan, Graceland, Thunderbird Mountain and returned us for good to Arizona where the most hated football rivalry in America takes place in Tempe and Tucson each year.

Thank you fish, cats, dogs, turtles and hamsters.

Thank you ghosts that haunt me in a good way, with copper miner crusher foremen, and barbers/metal workers and their wives who polka, waltz, and listen to Andy Williams and Lawrence Welk.  They are dancing in and around me.

Thanks to the crazy men and women that we drank and partied with.  We howled and shook the night from dual Indian reservations with roaring fires, to spring cleaning at Corey’s Cabana.  Thank you to tapas sisters, who spoke to me in Spanish and English over tubs of sangria.

Thank you to first wives, that shake your tree and prep you for the second.

And I must say girls, after one of our most beloved trips to our little China Town yesterday, what a great life it has been in our own China Town home where you have loved, used herbs and vegan delights, and cupped and accupunctured your way to my heart and soul.  To be in Shanghai with you and your family was a delight.

Now to do that one great thing, that everlasting thing, that thing that makes us unique as a person in our gathering of cosmic dust and sea salt.  That one great, last thing before we fade away in dignity, and turn into a ghost that can haunt one or two, or one or two million, or maybe even one or two billion.  Who knows?

THANK YOU, Thank You, thank you. . .and fade.

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