Day 1

This story starts on Day 366, the last day of 2008. It was a full day of friending and celebrating. We all met over at Andy's home. It was his birthday: he was born on New Year's Eve. Andy's family was there, and also his wife Nora, Jake and Christina, Matt and Jenny, and also our friends Brian and Sara and their little girl Maddy. A fine night for celebrating. Jake and I put the finishing touches on the sangria. We feasted on a batch of soft pretzels that Andy and Nora had just brought down from Philadelphia, while Andy and Jake's finely-tuned Pandora stations played on the stereo.

Eventually Brian and Sara had to leave because Maddy had to go home and go to bed. I was temped to stay at the party, but I hardly ever get to see Brian and Sara because they live in Baton Rouge. So I followed Brian and Sara back to Brian's parent's home, which is where they were staying. No crowded bars for us that night. Just three friends sitting in a quiet living room, talking and telling stories. Brian and I stayed up 'till well after 2:00 a.m. Then I poured myself a fresh cup of coffee and got in the car to drive myself home.

Roaring through the darkness on Interstate 70, I couldn't help but think about my brother out in Crested Butte, Colorado. A month or so earlier, I had helped Chris move to Colorado. We drove the old '88 Civic out there--all the way down I-70--and the maroon machine made it! 245,000 miles and still going strong. What a machine!

Nothing like a late night car ride to get some thinking done. I had my iPod on shuffle to keep my mind fresh. I stuck to the speed limit, maybe 5 over. I was sober and wide awake. I saw a few abandoned cars on the side of 70, but the roads were mostly empty. I had been warned by my friends to be careful on the roads, so I of course was on the lookout for any type of erratic driving. I wondered what my brother was doing for New Years. I thought about 2008, especially the later half that was still very fresh in my mind: My cross-country drive with Chris. My 13-day trip out to San Francisco to visit Matt and Phillip and Whitney. Good missions indeed.

I got home around 3:00 a.m. and I was still feeling pretty good so I fired up the laptop and did a little writing. I had put my writing on hold for most of the holidays, and I was more than ready to get back to the editing and rewriting. I worked on the book for a while, and then went to bed.

Later that day, I woke up. I worked on the book some more, one sentence at a time. I spent some time with my mother, who was home from work. Then around 4:00 p.m. Marley started getting excited. I said I'd take him to the dog park, because I could use a little exercise myself.

It was cool out. The thermometer on the back of my bike said 30 degrees. But I was dressed properly. And Marley with his thick winter coat seemed to be fine. I hooked the trailer to my bike and off we rode. Down the familiar roads. Then the downhill. While we were descending, I noticed some huge black objects in the naked branches of the trees off to my left. Are those birds? I wondered. I tapped the brakes a little, and looked up at the trees as I rode by. It looked like a huge turkey vulture soiree. There were probably 60 or 70 birds. Interesting, I thought. I should probably tell Brian about these. (Brian's a bird guy, and he probably knows something I don't about Cathartes aura.)

The image of those birds really stuck in my mind. They were all hanging out near the tops of the trees, sitting there like a bunch small bear cubs, weighing the branches down and dreaming of carrion and meat. When I passed the vulture party, I noticed that there seemed to be a human party happening on one of the nearby residential streets. Perhaps the birds had been lured there by the hot scent of roasting flesh. Hard to say.

A mile or so later, Marley let our a little cry as we rode up a hill. "Easy beast," I said. "We'll be there soon." He seemed to understand, but it's hard to say what goes through the mind of dog.

At the dog park, 3 people were standing around and 4 dogs were walking around. It was close to dark. I unleashed Marley and he took off, going counter clockwise around the perimeter of the dog park in his usually way. He made it about one third of the way around and then took off running with some kind of pointer. I got out my down jacket and put it on. I took off my helmet and then took off my hat. I turned the hat inside out and put it back on, that way the non-sweaty side would be against my head. (That's a little trick I made up a while ago, probably on some winter camping trip or something.) I got out my note pad and made a few notes for my book: parade, bridge noise/vibrations, people and their flags. I didn't need to write down the whole idea, just a word or two so that I wouldn't forget to remember the idea.

The wind was blowing that evening, and people were complaining about the cold. I instantly started scolding them in my mind: Hey, you wanna know something? It's really not cold if you're wearing enough clothes. You do know it's winter, right? Have you been outside in the winter before? Do you even know how to dress yourselves? Try a hat and some windproof pants, then get back to me. Oh, people are silly. I guess cars and buildings have become like coats for many people. They'll learn. Or they will be cold.

The sun was setting in the west and the wiry branches of the trees were silhouetted by the red and orange light in the sky. I stretched my back (which has been giving me some discomfort the last year or so) and I let out a little moan. I thought about summer 2009, and the adventures that were beginning to take shape. I knew I'd be fine. I knew the exercise would probably be good for me. But I still allowed myself to worry a bit.

I listened to the sounds around me. Dog tags jingling. Women talking. I could hear cars driving by on the road. And I could heard the birds singing. I looked up at the Moon. There was a bright light beneath it. Was that Venus? I desperately hoped so. Robert Hunter's words leap from pages in my mind.

"Counting stars by candlelight, all are dim but one is bright: The spiral light of Venus, rising first and shining best, From the northwest corner of a brand new crescent moon."

I rounded up Marley with a dog treat, and strapped him in to his seat. I got out my lights and turned them on. A white light in the front. Red light in the back. And home we rode. Me and Marley at the beginning of another year. On the way home I stopped to see if the vultures were still there. They weren't. They had moved on. Maybe they flew East to the waters of the Chesapeake Bay. Maybe they chased the sunset to the West. Perhaps I'll see them again, I thought. Or maybe never. Some events only happen once in a lifetime. Up and down the road we rolled, as the evening commuters aimed their heavy machines in a homeward direction. I saw the moon and recalled of the words of another song, one by Warren Zevon.

"The moon has a face that shines on the lake and causes the ripples in time. I'm lucky to be here with someone I like, who maketh my spirit to shine."

I know what Warren was saying. I too feel lucky to be hear. Life is fragile and not that long. I am lucky to have my family, and my friends, and my health. And as a writer, I have an endless amount of work to do. I guess that's a good thing. At least it'll keep me busy this year.

Happy New Year, friends. Peace and Happiness to all.