The radio show that's "storytime for grown-ups", aspiring writers, determined readers, all love it. It's been a tradition in my household for over twenty years- that's two houses, a wife, three dogs and growing up two babies into young men.
A cerebral glue of connection in this social media infused rapidly changing world.
I turned it on tonight, or the radio, which remains perpetually on NPR particularly on Sundays, evolved into Selected Shorts, and a woman's voice gave the brief rundown of Isaiah Sheffer's life and contribution to the show, as he had passed earlier this month.
I hadn't heard.
I stop my usual making dinner flow, ears perked and realize the voice is doing the post-mortem celebrating his passing and how he has been the voice of the show, etc.
For real.
And it really hits me in a funny way- not funny ha-ha, but in a strange, disconcerting way- I had seen the show once, live, here in Austin years ago, it was neat, but better for me on the radio where the imagination does the work.
I realized that the reassuring clockwork voice was gone, another signpost of my existence and my routine- my routine existence- was gone.
Without intentional maudlin or over the top "celebrity" adoration- I hate that- I found myself with that lump in my throat and the moisture filled my eyes.
So, a little "shout out" to a gentleman who affected me and my family in very real ways, and I am sure we aren't alone.
I searched Dkos and saw no mention- if this diary is redundant or a repeat, forgive my lack of current events, and please let it go.