If you dash by here regularly, you know that I dash off a post every day, whether I am feeling particularly dashing in the moment and/or whether my hopes have been — temporarily — dashed.
I’ve even dashed off some posts about a favorite punctuation mark: the dash.
But I’ve never been dashing enough — before dashing to dash out this dashing post on my dashed iPhone keyboard on this dashing Labor Day — to use the word “dash” as a title.
Why am I dashing to do that today?
Yesterday, I heard the poem “The Dash” by Linda Ellis– for the first time — at a funeral.
I shall now dash over to Google to see if I can find “The Dash” there.
When I dashed over to Linda Ellis’s website, I found that she had dashed off a request to NOT post her poem “The Dash.” I hope you dash over to her website, now, to read “The Dash.”
I will dash off this explanation, here, of the title of “The Dash” — it refers to the dash between the date of birth and the date of death, on a tombstone and elsewhere.
Besides reading “The Dash” at yesterday’s funeral, the loved ones of the deceased shared many beautiful memories of their wonderful family member, neighbor and friend, whose birth year — before her dash — was 1921. Her son sang — with deep and moving feeling — some of this song:
That’s Judy Garland, singing a dashing version of “Embraceable You.”
Judy Garland is in two of the photos I took dashing around Mildred’s Corner Cafe yesterday. Above, she’s dashing around on stage and is next to the dashing Gregory Peck.
After the funeral, my dashing friend Deb and I dashed around Swampscott, Massachusetts, where Atlantic Ocean waves are always dashing up on the shore.
Then, Michael and I dashed home, and I took more shots of dashing Harley.
Dashing thanks to Linda Ellis (for the poem “The Dash”); to Mrs. Ruth Epstein and her beautiful family and friends; to Deb; to Michael; to Mildred’s Corner Cafe; to Judy Garland, Bette Davis, Joan Crawford, Katherine Hepburn, Gregory Peck and all the other dashing movie stars Deb and I saw at Mildred’s yesterday; to the dashing city of Lynn and the dashing town of Swampscott; to Al our dashing cashier — who is dashing off to focus more on hospice work; to our cat Harley — who dashes up and down stairs and, usually, off of tables; and — of course! — to you, for dashing over here today.