Crikey...Well Shit.

Moms and I arrived at the beach, safe and sound. We've gotten checked in, gone to the bookstore, and are now going into 'beach mode'. She's out on the balcony, smoking and reading. I'm in the room, getting settled in, reading newspapers, and getting 'my area' in the room set up.

My heart isn't quite in all this however. I am crushed at the loss of The Crocodile Hunter, Steve Irwin. I remember the first time I ever saw him. Totally, absolutely full tilt boogie, baby. A man with a mission. Educating the masses about his beloved crocodiles, and wildlife in general. He knew those creatures so well and knew his boundries with them. It was really hard not to admire the man. It was impossible to watch his show and not admire his enthusiasm. 'That Crazy Fucker' was something I called him regularly. But he made me smile. He loved his wife and his kids with the same spirit that he loved those animals. Some people would argue, and say he got what he deserved, by 'messing' with creatures. I think not. Some would say, 'why are you surprised? he constantly took risks, and was eventually going to die because of the animals he was around.' To that I say calmly, 'you're entitled to your opinion.' He died because of a freak accident. Sure, he was swimming with rays. People don't die because they swim with rays. He died because of a spike in the heart from a ray. There's a difference. It was his day to die. Thats my only explanation. Freak accidents happen for a reason, you know.

It's not often I get all misty eyed about a celebrity's passing. But today I shed a tear for Steve Irwin and his wife Terri and their kids, Bindi and Bob. I know he died doing what he loved to do, and hopefully, he didn't suffer. Obviously, his work here was done, and he had bigger and better things to be doing.