Grendel and Me (October/November '08)

Bernie

Pink is not my color

I was talking to Grendel the other day; it was on the occasion of his finally forgiving me for sending him to “kitty camp” during my annual west coast tour. I made it abundantly clear how glad I was to see him again, as I genuinely did miss him a lot. Pets that rehabitate empty nests can do that to you.
“Boss,” he said, “you call it “kitty camp” (cute) or, boarding but the fact of the matter is I was in a cage like a common dog, and I might add in the company of common dogs. You know how they always bark! And when they are not barking they whimper and whine. I can do the time, Boss, but those pesky pooches, smaller than me, are disgusting.
With much smooching and stroking he was pacified, and I was happy to be with him again. Our reunion was gratifying to say the least.
I have often heard that coming home is often the best part of a trip and I will not quarrel with that; I have thought it too many times myself. This year coming home was more than that cozy feeling you get when exhausted you plop again into your own bed.
This year I returned to my high school’s 50-year reunion. Few things can bore a spouse more than such an affair. Few events will get better spousal attention than a class reunion. High school reunions are full of former sweethearts, and that, dear reader, is why spouses so seldom miss them. (50 years)
That aside there was the shock of non-recognition. The astonishment of seeing faces, that in memory are as clear as any photograph, so changed they seemed strangers. Perhaps it was the look of astonishment on their faces that threw me off.
Things went well, and we reminisced about our adventures especially about fleeing and outwitting the cops, though I might add, if caught, the consequence would have been little more than a good scolding and a threat to call our parents which in itself was enough calm our lust for illicit adventures.
I miss them already, or rather I miss who they were: young and without the burden of the years, as we vainly tried to pretend we still were who we then were.
Our Christmas party is coming up in a couple of weeks. It is our annual reunion, and even on an annual tick there will be changes of loss. Whether from health or circumstance, faces will fade into the past. A job moves one of us away, a bad foot, an ear problem, or just the stubbornness of piling up too many years. Which is why I put such urgency into my 1st Annual Birthday Dive. Whatever else this nasty winter will bring, it, cannot stop me from having dived into my 70s, albeit by only a handful of hours. Thank you Kevin and Linsley and Julie. Your being there meant so much to me.
I had better swerve away from this melancholia; it is not fitting in the darkest hour of our year to dwell on what the festivities are designed to comfort us against. We will gather to reassure ourselves that spring will come and summer and the light and warmth under which we thrive.
Assemble us in the warmth of each other’s company and celebrate the coming of the light. Laughter and libations lighten the libido. (sorry) Let the trek to summer begin. Be of good cheer. Rotate your tires. Change the batteries in…