What a great reunion it was to be! My old friend from high school, Jeff McChristian, emailed me a couple of months ago to say that his wife Pat had given him a 70th birthday present: a week’s session at a guitar camp in Port Orchard, about an hour south of us. He asked if we could meet.
Could we ever! He was flying in fairly late on a Friday night and had to be in Port Orchard on Saturday by 2:30. I suggested that he could stay with me, and I’d drive him down the following day with a stop in Poulsbo for lunch. He agreed. We’ve spent the last couple of months catching up.
A little background: Jeff and I are bound inexorably by football lore and legend. He was the star wide receiver and I was the quarterback of our Key Club football team. In fairness to Jeff, he also played as a wide receiver on the varsity. Our moment of glory came in a tied game with Interact, 7-7. I drove our team relentlessly down the field in a two-minute drill as the game was ending.
Suddenly we were at fourth down on Interact’s goal line. Our Keyette sisters had been cheering us on, with the rather dispirited cheer, “That’s OK, that’s all right, come on Key Club, fight fight fight!”
I took the snap, waded back a step or two, and saw my primary and secondary receivers covered. I checked down to my tertiary receiver, Jeff, streaking across the middle of the end zone and without hesitation I snapped a pass his way. It was a foot or two behind him, but he reached back, snagged it, and we were victors! Can’t beat that kind of drama.
We hadn’t spoken in 30 years, which was due to my wallowing in drink, depression and madness. I dreaded talking to anyone whom I’d perceived as achieving more than I had. Jeff, a successful lawyer in West Hartford. Connecticut, certainly qualified.
When he arrived, plane and ferry were late, so we didn’t arrive at my condo till midnight. Given the fairly early morning that was coming, as I wanted to show him the island, have him see Nancy again and meet Kate, we had one drink and started up to bed.
Somehow though I tripped on the stairs and fell, fracturing four ribs. Two ambulance rides later, I was in a hospital in Tacoma. I don’t know the details, but Jeff contacted Nancy, and she drove him to Port Orchard.
I spent Saturday night in the hospital and was home Sunday afternoon. I’m writing this on the following Thursday. I’m beginning to feel better, which is a good thing. Sunday we leave to drive Kate across a bunch of ugly fat square red states to Ann Arbor to start the school year. We’re dropping the car off for her and flying back a couple of days later.
I think I’ll survive just fine. I have a pile of oxycodone.
However, I’m going to take at least a week off from the blog. The editor has challenged me with lots of revisions for the book that is based on the blog. I need to think about how to approach it.
Also, to be honest, I’ve temporarily run out of things to say. The blog is as of tonight 144 posts long, and, for the time being, aside from vicious takes on certain politicians and Supreme Court justices (oh, same thing)—whose hypocrisies, really, are too stunning to merit notice—I am without anything edifying to say, if indeed I’ve ever had anything such like.
So have a nice month or so of the rest of summer. I’ll be back at some point. This is too much fun for me to give up.
In the meantime, please peruse the picture illustrating this post. I made that hole in the wall during my fall. Does that look like the back of a head or a replaced knee ran into it? I don’t feel any pain in either of them. Feel free to vote “head” or “knee” in the comments. Or just add “SMH.”
Take care, and don’t let the cops search your car!
No hints: Neither my head nor my knee hurts.
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