March 11, 2013

  • Sunday morning, since I set my clocks before going to bed, I was awakened by M8iss Dolly around three in the morning - by the clock - which only the day before would have informed I was awakened by Miss Dolly at two in the morning

    I remained awake. I finished reading the book I‘d been nursing for several days. Intermittingly, I played with Miss Dolly and Miss Pumpkin. Marshmallow remained on the kitchen floor, in a ball, unmindful of the antics going on in others parts of the house.

    It was after six when I got coffee at the MacDonald’s down the street, three blocks west. After a time, a gentleman asked if he could sit down at my table. I welcomed the company. Larry, my new acquaintance, is 85, a widower, retired farmer, retired Air Force flier, and retired lawyer. I’ve seen him before. He drives his 1928 Ford Model A on most days. It is painted John Deere green. He is fond of Model A’s. He had a 1926 model when he was in college at Kansas State, in 1946. His mother loaned him $ 100 so he could get that car. He could get four couples in that car, two pair in front, two pair in back. His fraternity brothers ‘tipped’ him to turn corners in such a manner that they would careen into their dates.

    We talked for an hour and a half. Well, he talked, I listened. A farm kid. Catholic. Tenth child in a brood of eleven. Four older brothers went to war. Larry was too young to go to World War II.

    His saga got us to the end of the Korean war. He and his wife, Alice, lived there. Because the war was over, and he was married with one child, he could obtain an early, and honorable, discharge. He took it. That’s when I to say goodbye. I had to go meet my regular Sunday coffee crowd at another coffee house.

    I hope I get more “ear” time with Larry. This is “living” history at its best.

    At the other coffee house, my dear friend, Larry - a different Larry, of course - and my friend, Melodee, showed up early. Mel’s father died early morning on the 8th. I’d seen her each morning for three days. In such times, we seek out our closest friends. Larry’s wife died in 2005. We met for coffee as usual, the next morning. It was July 5, his wife had died on the 4th. When my father died, I went home with my mother, sister and a cousin. I slept for a few hours, then went to the train station to say goodbye to my friend Tom. He was off to boot camp. It was December 19, 1960. As it is wife humans, life goes on. Grief - personal - can be shared unashamedly with close friends.

    The world has noise aplenty. People have opinions. I know I do. We are complimented when people pay attention to us. Knowing this, I try hard to be a good listener.