From memories fade the fondest days.  Had I known that this was the last before the parting of ways, would I have lifted the setting sun and held back forever the passing of the day.

Indelible moments etched in glass:

Crystal clear were your eyes, dancing with each happy sigh.
Careful mirth across your face, as those golden hours went too quickly by.

But even glass melts under the press of time.

Those precious memories, so sharp that day, melt now with each rising sun.  I grasp at each drop to lock it tight, but through desperate fingers those treasured moments fall to puddles on the ground.

Reflections of that cherished day evaporating under the unforgiving sun.  Away to nothingness go your warm embrace and that knowing smile.  With despair I rail against the fading of that fondest day.

To have met and laughed, and to have seen and admired from afar and near.  Then to depart the best of friends, with the brightest of beginnings, and the promises of infinite tomorrows.  But the promises will be left unfulfilled and those tomorrows will never be today.  The beginnings are the endings and the writer left with the ink still un-dried.  One comma out of place in the promissory note and we null and void the fairy tale before it's written.  To live and hope for the rainbow in the sky and fearful that it's just a chance illusion after all.

That rare and exceptional day is today.  It is not tomorrow or the next day.  It is not the day of the beautiful sunrise or the day you earn praise from your peers.  It is the day you wake up to, the day you draw breath and feel your way to the bathroom with sleep sodden eyes.  Aye, every day.  Today is a precious commodity, a beautifully rare day you will never have again.  Wait not for tomorrow's promise, live today.

In him the dragon untamed, roaring and belching its acrid malcontent.  Every word is a curse.  Every gesture perverse.  Around him people shiver and hide, disgust and pity pushing their backsides.  He sees nothing in the mirror that pleases but the reflection is the mantle he knows.  Twist and turn he might, fleeing into the uncaring night.  Turn around, Mr. Black, the beast is on your back.

In an uncertain world where the unexpected must be expected and we are kept on our toes to be mindful of hidden dangers, the one constant not dictated by man or it's various contraptions is the great equalizer, the one inevitable, certain outcome of all who is and will ever be, is Death.  Yes, Death, the boogeyman that lurks behind every dark corner and whose mere mention brings an unnatural chill to the warmest hearth.

Boo!  I am Death and I haunt you in every unguarded moment of your life.  I turn grown men into sniffling children and the most gay affair into a pallid play of uneasy silence and long stiff drinks.  Fear me for I hold the ironclad chains about your wilted neck and by my permission do you make false merriment and see the light of another misery drenched day!

Thus do we seek distraction when we hear the rattle of Death's chain.  Thus do we plainly ignore the prudent and the obvious.

If Death is the inevitable and the unpredictable, why should we fear it and hide from it?  Why should we not make it a part of our lives and live with Death as a constant and faithful companion so that we can live freely?  Know that Death is always at hand and accept it, live with it, but live happily and carefree.  Be prepared every moment for Death's final embrace but do not live under it's shadow.  Talk about Death.  Talk about your final wishes.  Make a will.  Make the journey of life knowing you have a companion that will never leave you and take good care of him.  And if "Death" doesn't suit you, give him a new name.  "Harry" or "Enrique" or "Sir Loin of Beef"--you wouldn't be the first person to give a nickname to a part of your anatomy.

Coming home from work, traffic snarled as usual, I'm given plenty of time to look around.  What I see is a cityscape of asphalt and concrete, brilliantly backlit by the setting sun.  A golden, orange shine touches every surface, gleaming gemstones shimmering in the early evening haze.  Golden hour.

Against this shifting magical landscape of fiery obelisks and long purple shadows, a river of cars crawl along at a snail's pace.  Behind the windshield of every vehicle, a long face settled in for the long drive home.

Hours and days do we spend commuting back and forth between our jobs and our familiar homes.  Hours and days do we spend with a long grim face, eyes forward and blank, watching for the red glow of the tail light in front of us or waiting for that green light that tells us to go, go, go.

What thoughts wander through your mind when you find yourself behind the steering wheel making your way through the bleakness to the warm hearth at home?  Are you one of the many whose mind wanders about a gray fog, the only emotion brought on by a sudden change in the light in front of you?  Are you thinking about the troubles that weigh down on your shoulders like a vise?

What short little lives we lead and what time we waste not tasting it and making it more enjoyable.  Take those empty gray hours and fill them with a little bit of that golden sunshine just beyond the hood of your car.  Think about all the good things that have happened to you today or this week.  If you've had a particularly bad time of it lately and nothing happy comes to mind, smile anyhow and enjoy the sensation of living.  The act of breathing, of seeing, of feeling the warm light stroking your skin--those are things not to be missed because they are the essence of living.

If you're the surly type with no sense of romance or imagination and you stomp on snowflakes and mow down dandelions, smile anyhow, 'cause it's infectious and it'll make my day that much better.  And in case you've forgotten how, let me demonstrate.

Now, that's a happy man!

Beach chairs and pool-side service under an early morning sun.  Pretty boys and pretty girls with sun gold skin and starch white shorts at beck and call.  Out the stout iron gate, an air-conditioned bus with high-backed chairs and a mini-bar traipsing around mud houses and salted faces weathered under hard labor and a down-beating sun.  Shiny baubles laid out on a blanket--what's $50 for a bit of polished tin?  It's more than most people make in a week.  Well then, throw in another 50¢ for a photo with the boy with a dirt-streak face and sad dark eyes.  Smile! glittering white teeth beneath mirrored lenses on a red sun-burnt face.  Back to a plush dining room with colored tiles and deep tassled cushions.  Prim waiters with plates of lamb and couscous Americana held high beneath a canvas of starlight flooding through the open roof.  A troop of veiled dancers restless, driven, swaying to the beat of native drums.  Salut! a glass of brandy for my brave companions on this adventure to foreign lands!

The two room hotel we're staying at tonight has two towels for guests.  This was explained to me by Yousef apologetically after I asked for a third twice.  It seems Morocco is famous for it's $50 per sq. foot rugs, not for it's abundance of towels.

Mom used the first one to soak up the water in the shower.  The second, and last towel, became the issue of some debate between Mary and I after some cajoling with my mom about the first.

Cajoling, teasing, joshing.  We make light-hearted fun of people who are different, people who stumble, people who love us and changed our diapers but now look to us for help.  When does teasing become bullying and demoralizing?

Every joke has a grain of truth.  Truth as we see it and truth about ourselves, not necessarily truth as it really is.  We some times conceal exasperation or condescendence with such a joke.  But when a person asks you for help, really needs your help, no matter the size of the task or what you view as the absurdity of the task, it is cruel to make light of it, it is right to just do it.

Thus, the woman who washed my sheets when I peed my bed in junior high shouldn't have to ask me twice for a glass of hot water or put up with a snide remark, even if it's 100 degrees out and the waiter barely understands English.

Tomorrow will be a better day for both of us.

The four basic necessities of life and happiness:

• Health
• Food
• Shelter
• Community

Everything else is just gravy.

Taking a ferry across the Mediterranean Sea from Algecira in Spain to Tangier in Morocco, one of the first things I noticed is how conservative the Moroccans are compared to their neighbors across the narrow strait.  Women are typically covered as you see on TV, hair and sometimes face hidden.  Many men wear long hooded robes with prominent beards untrimmed. It makes a boy from the sticks very conscious of his own dress.

Back home, shirts are optional and bikini tops not an uncommon sight during the summer.  There, the principle of being yourself and letting the world beware makes for great ad copy and sells a lot of sneakers and ironic t-shirts.  We pride ourselves on the appearance of individuality.

Here, families are close-knit and a man sitting on another's lap is a common sight in the streets.  Despite that, the current in the air blows conservatively and in a country where public lashings are not uncommon, the first thing I did on arriving at the Hotel Continental was to discreetly go into the men's washroom and turn my t-shirt inside out.  A graphic that's funny in Spain (if you're not a matador) just isn't worth 20 lashes in Morocco.