Death.

The end of the term, journey, adventure and road.

Taboo in most Western cultures, but let’s talk about it.

More specifically, why are you NOT afraid of it? Or at least, how to you manage the idea of mortality?

I can only speak for myself, but I believe that regardless of what faith you follow, or not, whatever comes next is just another grand adventure. I *refuse* to believe that it’s as simple as the religious books and systems make it out to be. Whether it ends up being fun, strange, or something purely beyond comprehension?

I think it’ll at least be interesting.

In my day job as an RN, I’ve seen too many young lives cut short, and too many of our elderly make it to the finish line without having actually lived. I can’t believe that it’s just one and done. I can’t accept that an all-powerful, loving creator would build this universe, with all its intricacies, only to send us into the grand arcade of existence with just a single quarter.

So when my time comes, whenever that may be, I’ll meet it with fingers crossed and a hopeful smile. In the meantime, there’s so much to do, and so much to enjoy.

Even when it seems hard to find.

It’s good to be grateful for what we have, no matter how little, especially when many others have less.

What about you?

-KC

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I was living in Pittsburgh at the time, home of the Steelers, Primanti’s sandwiches, a whole lot of Bridges, and a bizarre phenomenon called “Tunnel Traffic”.. (I don’t know why people slow down THAT much for a tunnel but hey.)

A date had canceled on me unexpectedly that evening, so finding myself with suddenly no plans I decided the best way to recover my evening was to simply have a date with myself! Now, being quite the hot date that I am, I would accept nothing less than a trip to White Castle.

Clearly, I have high standards.

White Castle is a place of myth and legend, they even made a movie about it! (Harold and Kumar go to White Castle. It’s pretty funny!) I’m not sure what makes them so wonderful, the novelty of the steamed burgers? Their actually thick shakes? Growing up we didn’t have a White Castle within a 3 state radius and in Pittsburgh the closest was over by Harrisburg, a good 4-5 hours away. Through mountains, valleys, unpredictable Central PA weather, and the risk of encountering unpredictable Central PA deer at 80mph.

Worth it.

I took this trip and made some time for myself, for—myself. I loaded up old playlists of music I haven’t heard in YEARS. Jamming out and remembering where I was and what I was doing when I first heard a song in particular, as if I was going back through old bookmarks. The Cranberries, White Zombie, Pearl Jam, LIVE, Wu Tang, Goo Goo Dolls, The Crystal Method, and Stabbing Westward were some of my companions in my journey. Each song a flash of memory, a little reel—some happy, some sad, but all lived.

Before I knew it I was pulling into the 24hr White Castle and ordering a giant crave case, some nugs, fries, and of course a large chocolate shake. (Honestly I don’t even know what it is, but their shakes are top tier as fast food shakes go.) This was pre-covid so I didn’t have to take a loan out for this haul.

I ate on the way home, arriving home stiff legged and with a slightly numb rear end, but satisfied. There would be other dates, other Saturday nights, but you know...not every adventure needs some grand plan, sometimes, the best ones start with a craving and a long drive.

-KC

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I was a boy scout.

Go ahead…get all the jokes out of your system.

I’ll wait.

It’s nothing we haven’t joked about ourselves.

We called ourselves “Death scouts.” A band of rogue scholars covered in merit badge drip.

That also happened to enjoy lighting stuff on fire and jamming out to They Might Be Giants and Smashing Pumpkins.

Was our title justified?

Not really.

But it sounded cool.

That part’s not the point though.

What really matters, and what this week is about, is the treasures the forest would grant us for our innocent delinquency.

A Stick.

Not just any stick, though.

We’re talking one worthy of King Arthur, Merlin, or William Wallace.

Perfectly balanced.

Mostly free of bugs.

Not so dried out that it would crack after a few strikes and give you splinters.

No.

This stick?

Was so perfect that it transported you.

To another world.

Another time.

When imagination was your sword, your shield, and your quest.

Whoever found the stick was the hero.

The rest of us fell in line, in equal parts instinct and our usual D&D alignments.

Taking up lesser sticks because the call was too strong not to answer.

We’d wage epic battles.

Claim invisible kingdoms.

Adventured across lands that existed somewhere between dreams and dirt.

Eventually, the moment would pass.

We’d relinquish our armor and shields to the forest floor.

Return our weapons to the grand armory of the campfire.

And make s’mores.

-KC