According to a Facebook notification, Saturday was my friend Jeffery’s birthday. At least it would have been if he were still alive. On this site, I’ve referred vaguely to a “talented chef” on many occasions as the source for various culinary tendencies or revelations. There is a coterie of professionals from whom I take inspiration, but the bounds of my aesthetic bear Jeffery’s influence more than any other.
I also get an electronic reminder when it’s my friend Daniel’s birthday. He endured an astonishing ten year battle versus recurring brain tumors before succumbing. Another Jeffery, brother of my brother in-law, fell to a heart attack in his early thirties while jogging. Jason’s motor cycle stood no chance against a truck on a rainy Oklahoma highway. I sent Chris home for being high during his shift. He was fired and died of an overdose two weeks later. CJ’s life as an evangelical ended with ALS. Can a guy pull off the nickname “Spanky” into his late thirties? I knew one who could – father and all – until, again, heart attack. All still inhabit either Facebook or Google Contacts. Continue reading