Once a week I read the obits in the Portland Oregonian. I feel kinship and connection to the city and people. I started reading obits when I was younger. those dying born in the teens twenties later thirties and forties, I caught up. Now people from fifties and sixties. I recognize names or think I do wondering if I dated her or drank with him. Did we go to the same high school? or university? Were they Jewish? was the family name one I remember? Recently there have been a few dead children. I knew their parents. Some names standout there is no doubt I know where and when. Others more elusive or magical a sounds-like-moment, a trick of mind. This timeline serves me like a clock measuring time by passing generations changing, people leaving, me waiting proving my frailty my humanity.