Somehow, I felt like I needed to pay my last respects, so I went to Bob’s funeral last Wednesday in Price Hill. I can’t exactly remember how we met, probably through a friend of a friend, but it was in the early 1990s. Throughout the years, we always stayed in touch, but I would often ask myself why.  

It was mid-afternoon, and before going through a backlog of e-mails I decided to go to my real mail box and check my real mail. This is usually a somber experience. What fun is it to look through bills, advertisements and junk? This time, though, something got my attention. A blue envelope was in the stack of mail, and my address was handwritten on it.   

A few weeks ago, my friend Julie and I were walking the sidewalks of downtown and decided to take a No. 1 bus to Mount Adams. It was a nice spring afternoon, and we wanted to take in the sights up on the hill. While walking in Mount Adams, I couldn’t help but notice all the cars parked on the hilly streets.  

On Easter I attended a family dinner at which my ex-wife served roast leg of lamb. Thoughts of my friend Greg's words from Friday were in my head — that there's proof Jesus had lived. What would Jesus think of me eating a lamb? I started to feel guilty. But I hope that Jesus did live. If it's true, I'm sure he was a good person and someone I would have wanted to hang out with.  

The book jacket states Ablutions is Patrick deWitt’s first novel but it’s really, as the subtitle suggests, notes for a novel — notes made by a nameless fictional bartender working at a down-and-out Hollywood dive. Throughout, we’re introduced to a variety of characters who are patrons of the bar, such as Curtis — a disconsolate man with a law-enforcement fetish.  

Simple but wonderful morning discoveries make me happy, make me glad I didn't give up on myself. Only a year ago, in fact last spring, I was fighting something in my mind that was getting the better of me, taking me over. There were no birds singing and there was nothing in the sky I wanted to watch or witness.   

I think of my friends John, Amber and Anna. I also think of that man who wanted bus fare at the bus stop, the guy who tried to bully me for cigarette money and the woman who wanted to buy milk for her babies. Trying to put myself in all of their shoes, trying to understand why some people can find jobs even in bad times while others have to ask or beg for money and live off the streets, I’m having a difficult time wrapping my head around it all.  

I haven’t been using my ATM card lately to withdraw money from my checking account. With this financial crisis, I’m afraid that one of these days the receipt coming out of the machine is going to read, “Sorry, you’re a day late. We had to spend your money yesterday to pay our utility bill.”   

As I started to unpack the box, my stomach was in knots. I knew what was inside, and I didn't want it. It occurred to me to simply throw the box and its contents in the trash. When a friend said he was going to ship the mandolin to me, I said, "Please don't."   

When my new friend Julie called me Wednesday night to see if we were still on for lunch the next afternoon, I wasn't sure. This was the week of the big snow, then ice, then more snow. I hadn't been out of my living space in days. I wasn't sure if I could walk on the stuff.