My friend, Carol, insists that at her funeral I will sing Somewhere Over the Rainbow. I’ve tried to back out of it, first by refusing to discuss the possibility of death – Carol’s, mine or anyone else’s; then by declaring that I would be much too upset to sing anything. “You can do it for me,” Carol insists.
*****The rain fell sporadically in Syracuse. From a drizzle in the city it graduated to a downpour at Chittenango Falls. I sat with the other press trip writers underneath a log canopy, savoring a boxed lunch and the sound of the falls, a few yards away. On cue, the sun broke through just as we were finishing, bathing the waterfall's gorge in light. I stood at the top of the waterfall and looked down into the chasm below. Higher than Niagara, Chittenango Falls is a spectacle at any angle. I longed to hike down the trail, to the bridge way down at the bottom. “Sorry,” said our hosts, “Not enough time for that.”