While Palmer presented no terrifically intellectual challenges to the public, as Said always did, his death is one of those that affects me purely because of my age. It's nowhere near the first time that I am reminded of my ashen roots by the leaving of a fellow generation-traveler. I guess this is what my folks felt when, say, ol' Blue Eyes went away. Or maybe not.

Sort of brings to mind thoughts like, "I could be next." I'm itching to see an attorney to draw up a will suddenly, but I know the drive will pass.

Said's death is truly a loss to not only those who knew him or of him, but for those who did not. His contributions while alive were beneficial on a much grander scale than any singer's could ever be.

So there's the dead. Then there's little Mayme.

I'm returning home from my morning drive and the radio's death reports to find an email of a sweet, round face with a little baby hattie on top. It's Mayme, a little early, but just fine and healthy. She has no idea what's in store for her -- brand new babies are life's simplest marvel. Here she goes!

All this thought about death and birth makes me think of the physicality of this thing we call life. That human bodies function -- now there's a mystery that's taken for granted.

The other day, I read in an acquaintance's online journal that she'd experienced some level of hatred toward her body as a teenager. Having known this person only briefly and only as an adult, I found her revelation intriguing. I feel very, very fortunate to have been by-passed by the sort of lingering, life-impacting absorption with my own body's appearance that apparently haunts most Americans (and most of those, women.) The saddest part of all is that so very many of these body-haters confuse their bodies with who they are, resulting in pure, yet misdirected, self-hate.

Yes, I have been blessed genetically with a body that doesn't lean toward obesity. So who knows how much additional sculpting I gleaned from all those decades of regular and varied exercise? Yes, I used to eat anything I wanted and in any quantity. So perhaps my lifelong, innate desire for vegetables and dislike of sweets along with my easy recognition of physical satiation had little real effect on my weight moderation.

So maybe it's true that I have no idea from where these folks come, those who enjoy talking openly and often about their "diets" and plans for exercise, all the while bristling at the slightest reference to their bodies as "fat" or "skinny." The American tendency to experience conflict between thoughtful, educated desire and impulsive, brain-stem-spurred behavior is played out so clearly in our basic living habits.

Seems like the conflict could be resolved once we finally understand that our bodies are just that -- physical bodies. Soul warehouses, if you will. Containers that merely hold who we are. Not really "us" and in no way fashioned to remain functioning forever.

As I listen to reports about deaths reminding me that my turn is coming, and I see in an email the most beautiful face that is only hours old, I look at my own vehicle, this one that is covered with skin and hair. And I think -- this is my very best friend, this body. It has been with me since before I was born and will be the only thing to leave with me. To consider all the ways I have knocked the poor old thing around over the years, and yet, here it is still -- breathing and much more, in spite of all my neglect or attention.

So, goodbye to the bodies of Robert Palmer and Edward Said. We're grateful to have your words and music still with us. No telling where you guys will show up next. Hello and welcome to the little body called Mayme. I wish for you a physical vehicle that will take you where your soul wants to go.

I've already forgotten the whole 'will' thing, but I feel more inclined to be kinder to my oldest friend.