I confess. I am an animist. Animism is simply a belief that all inanimate objects, such as rocks and plants, have souls, and therefore have feelings. This includes glass beads, drift wood and old soccer balls.

“Dead” is such a sharp, brittle word. “Deceased” is a morgue word, an obit phrase. The old black people of my childhood seemed to concur on “passed.”

They were there. They were very much there. They were like a great forest of tall trees that filled the space around our childhoods. They made us chocolate sodas and filled our gas tanks, sold us insurance, bagged our groceries, and healed our wounds. They were so tall, both in body and spirit, that they blocked the cold winds and the harsh suns of childhood from us. And then they were gone.

Brody is being christened today. He is not of my blood, only the issue of young friends of mine, so she, who will not pass up a chance to cry at a wedding or christening, is taking me along with her to the event.

Brody is being christened today. He is not of my blood, only the issue of young friends of mine, so she, who will not pass up a chance to cry at a wedding or christening, is taking me along with her to the event.

Breaking news: In October 1991, a 5,000-year-old tattooed man made the headlines of newspapers all over the world when his frozen body was discovered on a mountain between Austria and Italy. You can Google it. I did.

Breaking news: In October 1991, a 5,000-year-old tattooed man made the headlines of newspapers all over the world when his frozen body was discovered on a mountain between Austria and Italy. You can Google it. I did.

When I was young and chasing ballerinas, actresses, and tall, dark coffee shop cashiers through the canyons of Manhattan, growing old rarely occurred to me.