August 24, 2013
Choke down half of the greasy sandwich and a handful of the mound of tasteless fries, drank my gallon glass of non-sweetened iced tea, while swallowing the galloping words of my companion. He is a sweet, ancient soul, generous, and appears to enjoy my company. A champ, in my book.
We
meander across the weary restaurant, as the tables fill. My aged friend and I arrived
long before the Happy Hour Specials were announced, scribbled on the rotating
board, in fact, for the only crowd who can read the doctor’s letters, the
regulars. I understand the need to arrive early, to get the good parking spot
out front and not fear the consequences when the BLT is “sold out.” However,
this may very well mean another meal has to be eaten before bedtime. I could
very well wither away to nothing before breakfast.
Easy
to feel young and perky at 53 when I hang out with the elder. I am pop-sitting
for an extended weekend in the country. Despite my limp, I canter ahead of him
to open the door, and let myself out this morning. I chuckle when he insists it
is too far to walk to the mailbox, just down the short drive to the highway. He
allows me to take the wheel when we leave the property, which I appreciate, not
sure that he is capable of getting the two of us to town without impaling me on
a post, situated at the side of the country road. We take a drive daily,
whether we need to or not, to the grocery store, post office (no, we have never
put outgoing mail in the box for the carrier, have to take it into town) or to
look up friends I have in a neighboring community, because I mentioned I know
someone who lives there. Like I said, sweet, kind, and a gentleman. I had to
insist they are off, riding horses for the weekend, and are not available for a
visit. Yes, it is too bad.
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