When I stare out the window above my kitchen sink I see a lemon tree. Though it grows on my neighbor’s land, its branches hang over our common fence.  For several months there has been a single lemon hanging on that tree, but yesterday morning I noticed it was gone.  I considered mounting a search, but I was in my bathrobe and didn’t care to walk outside, even for a free lemon. And I definitely was not going to climb the fence.

Last Friday, Fritz Coleman, weatherman at the local NBC channel, retired after almost forty years on the job.  When he took the job he told the TV station he was a comedian, not a meteorologist.  They hired him anyway.  The station wanted a weathercaster who was entertaining, and he certainly was.

Yesterday evening, Daveen and I watched a PBS documentary about black holes.  Apparently scientists now believe that a supermassive black hole exists at the center of each galaxy in the universe, including our own. They predict that these black holes, more massive than a million of our suns, will eventually eat everything within their gravitational pull.  I guess that means that in a few billion, or few trillion, years (does it really make a difference?) black holes will consume the universe.

Maybe then there will be another “big bang”.

What do these three stories have in common — a lemon, Fritz Coleman, and black holes?

Each of them has performed a disappearing act from my life.

When I was young, I wrote the following line: “Life is loss.”  I still believe that, but my current view is larger.

For months I observed that lemon up close and personal.  Now it’s disappeared.  Since I have already picked every lemon from my own trees, I guess I’ll have to buy my lemons at the grocery store until Fall.

Thirty years ago when I watched the evening news regularly, I enjoyed Fritz Coleman, both for his whimsy and for providing a weather prediction for the next day.  I watched his final TV appearance last Friday.  Now he’s gone, and today I look up weather for anywhere in the world on my iPhone.

When I was in middle school I studied astronomy.  At that time black holes were just a theory envisioning a mysterious celestial object with such a strong gravitational pull no light could escape. My most specific memory from science class is that on one quiz I named, in order, all nine of the planets of our solar system (those were the days before Pluto was demoted). Because I was a smart aleck, I also threw in the asteroids.  Because I misspelled “asteroids” the teacher gave me a C+ instead of the A or A- that I undoubtedly deserved.

Life is a process of waking up, absorbing data, making decisions, and ultimately letting go. And, like a black hole which we can never actually see (inside its borders), we are truly known only to ourselves, and no one else, before we disappear.

Life is not only loss, but also a wonderful adventure.  I enjoy so many memories, and now those include a lemon, Fritz Coleman, and all of the black holes that vanish the moment they are born.

Alan

I’m sometimes a contrarian.  This Father’s Day, I found myself thinking about my mother.

I remembered the pleasure of her company when I arrived home from school every afternoon. I’d have a snack while Mom prepared dinner and we’d talk for hours.

One memory popped up that I hadn’t thought about for years.  For several months before I was five I insisted that my mother call me The Emperor rather than my given name.  Sometimes she complied with my demand, but mostly she forgot and I had to remind her.

“I’m not Alan.  I’m The Emperor.”

My emphasis was on being in charge.  I wanted to control my life – including my name – as well as to assert my own separateness, at least from my mother.  I never mentioned this to my father because, well, because he was the real “Emperor” in our house and I didn’t want him to notice my not-so-subtle challenge to his authority.

We all recognize at an early age the need to control our own lives.  That’s why, at age two, my favorite phrase was, “No I not.”  Today my favorite phrase is, “Yes, absolutely.”

Many of our activities are anchored in the idea of control.  Daveen enjoys washing the dishes and doing the laundry.  In a recent conversation she told me, “That’s one area in my life where I have some control.”

I thought about it, and realized that I enjoy shopping for groceries for a similar reason.  When I buy the food I can eat what I like.

We place our names on bank accounts to control our money, homes to control our space, and diplomas to demonstrate our mastery.  We differentiate ourselves with our choices, the cars we drive, and our clothing.  But we also recognize, if only subconsciously, that our aspirations forever fluctuate, our success is inescapably infrequent, and our jurisdiction is both limited and fleeting.

Mom – thanks for your love, our family dinners together, and my memories.  You’ve been gone for thirty years now, but in a very important way you will be alive for as long as I am.

I love you.

Alan (The Emperor)

While out walking this morning I spotted a bright copper penny lying on the road in front of me.

From when I was a child I have picked up every unattached coin I’ve seen and dropped it into my pocket.  I even had a fantasy about writing a book on how I turned a quarter found on the street into an investment worth one million dollars.  But I’ve never kept track of those coins (or in a few cases bills) that I found.  In any event, my total collection was spent, not saved, and it couldn’t have been more than thirty or forty dollars anyway.

Originally I thought that, unlike a meager childhood allowance from my parents, there were no strings attached to “found” money.  I just had to be observant and pick it up.  I didn’t have to keep my room neat or make my bed to earn it.   (Sorry, Daveen.)

When I was young I was always on the alert for every possible “something for nothing” I could find.  When I was eighteen I inherited $1,000 from my grandmother, which was more than half of what I needed to purchase my new VW bug.  Thanks again, Grandma.

But by now a long life has intervened and I am wiser. I’ve found there are no shortcuts.  An enduring career, as well as business or personal success, is based upon providing value and persisting.  It is not based upon the occasional freebie.

My first father-in-law spent one or two weeks a year searching for a “lost” gold mine in Arizona.  I hope he enjoyed his quest, because he never found the gold.  Even if he did, or even if I won the $140,000 sweepstakes prize (for years I bought a ticket), one “big hit” doesn’t make a life any more successful than marrying your high school sweetheart guarantees a happy marriage.  You have to pay attention and work at improving your skills to build and maintain a mutually supportive intimate relationship.

They say old habits die hard.  It wasn’t until seven years ago, after a lifetime of making high calorie choices that I permanently changed my eating habits and was able to reduce and stabilize my weight. Now I also walk at least 4,000 steps a day and work out at least twice a week, even with my personal trainer unavailable.  That’s new for me and demonstrates how, when motivated, we can change our habits and behaviors for the better.

So what happened to that copper penny gleaming in the sun?

I have no idea.  This time I left it there.

Alan