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2013-12-24 - 12:56 p.m.

What's really a bummer about getting a little older is that, slowly (thankfully), here and there, people start to die.

That really is a bummer. And sorry. Just found out that a kid who I played basketball with, whose mother was my second-grade teacher, died. The obituary in the local paper says he died at home. He was 34. He lived in the next town up the mountain, the college town.

He was tall, and a little strange, and awkward with his legs and arms. When I knew him, he had not yet grown into his size. Later, he would become a good athlete, getting recruited by universities.

His mother was nice, if a little stern. They went to our church. She had permed blond hair, was pale, and wore lots of make-up.

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