Missing Diamond
July Fourth went off without much fuss, Dodger Stadium and neighborhood revelers took care of pyrotechnics and my commitment to polish my resume and scan help-wanted websites had me on my own quest for freedom over the long weekend. With my steady gig affected by funding cuts I’m at a career crossroads and it’s time to get serious about passions and pursuits. Writing as a skill set has wide application. Not quite sure which pot to dip my quill in next. Regardless, there’s pleasure in having options to explore, a relative ease to life what with any and all bumps in the road juxtaposed to a crisis that ended ten years, one month, and six days ago.
In noting the diamond anniversary of Nina’s death-defying act some of us fans raise a glass, others crank up the volume to a reminiscent song, some forget altogether. The decade squirted by so quickly it’s a tough concept to grasp. “What, so soon? Why it seems like only yesterday . . .“ One hears this talk around the shock of how fast the pages flip. In the case of Ms. Nina, the distance from the actual event is welcome. Cushioned by time I can finally focus on my sister independent of the disease. The ALS-stricken tiny bird cocooned in a blue blanket has flown away. In her place is a tall creature wearing cut-off jeans and a paint-stained t-shirt, smoking a Players Extra Light—a lethal mix of femme fatal and girl next door. Not everyone is blessed with such raw talent, and it’s to this I tip my hat. Even Nina’s gal pals joke her dramatic demise in the prime of life was strategically planned. Forever she’ll remain a flash of fire, an iconic vision of youthful beauty. Meanwhile the rest of us keep plugging along into slow fade, juggling two sets of glasses on our head and not celebrating birthdays. Perhaps it’s a shallow argument, but at least it offers some levity to the premature loss of a super woman. Cheers Nina.