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Sometimes, a little conversation goes a long way…

 ”So, how long have you been married?” I asked Paul, as we chatted. “I’ve been married for more than forty years,” he replied. “How did you and your wife meet?” I followed up. He paused for a moment before describing a rather standard Kismet. He and his wife, Tessa, had been introduced by a mutual friend at college.

“A few months later,” Paul went on, “Tessa began that thing – you know, that phase – when women begin to use all those little words and gestures to try to get the guy to talk about his commitment. I put up with it for a bit, but, finally, decided to lay down the law. I told her ‘This is a conversation we should have later!’ She didn’t say anything, but all the hinting around came to a halt.”

“It was at a dinner table, two years later,” Paul continued. “I put that small, black velvet box in front of Tessa and said, ‘Here’s the ring.’ She looked at the box for a while, but didn’t touch it. Then, she looked up at me and smiled and said, ‘So, I guess we can have that conversation, now!’”

Terrestrial love is fine, but, as Pollycracker can confirm, love in the air  is even more wonderful…

Maintaining Altitude

“So, how did the two of you meet?” I asked Rod and Julie, whom I had just barely met. The couple glanced at one another and, then, stared at me, wondering whether the question hid some strange agenda. Whatever conclusion the couple reached, they decided to answer.

“I was working as a clerk on the sixth floor of a hospital,” Julie began, “and Rod was working across the street.” “Back then,” Rod continued, “I was skilled in razing the shells of old brick buildings and was used to high and narrow walkways. While chopping away on the sixth floor wall, I spotted this woman, liked her looks and waved to her. She…” “I saw this guy waving,” Julie broke in, “liked his looks and decided to wave back.”

He waved. She waved. They kept up this aerial courtship for about a week before Rod’s coworkers, noting Julie’s frequent trips from the hospital, urged Rod to get down to street level as quickly as she. Not long afterwards, she began a descent and so did he. Reaching the ground, Rod raced across the street and caught her as she came out the door. “Hi, my name’s Rod,” he said.  ”My name’s Julie,” she replied.

Two weeks later, they moved in together, an arrangement that did not please Julie’s mother. Two years later, they got married. This time, Mom approved.

“We’ll be celebrating our 31^st wedding anniversary, this year,” Rod said, smiling at his wife. Julie turned to look at him and smiled back. They looked and smiled for a long time. These two lovebirds, it was plain to see, had found a way to maintain their altitude.

Let us all take a moment to express our gratitude for the scientist, slaving away in his basement laboratory (or kitchen) in hopes of creating one more boon for mankind and, in doing so, making a few bucks on the side…

A Near Perfect Doughnut

Today’s schools track the incidence of obesity in children to help keep them trim and pass out reams of prescriptions for ritalin to keep the kids quieted and in a learning mode. For aging adults we have serotonin re-uptake inhibitors and a myriad of diet products to help stave off depression and diabetes. And now, finally, we have a new treatment for the in-between population. According to a recent Yahoo! news article, Dr. Robert Bohannon, a molecular scientist from Durham, North Carolina, “has developed a way to add caffeine to baked goods without the bitter taste of caffeine. Each piece of pastry is the equivalent of two cups of coffee.” The report also notes that, “While the product is not on the market yet, Bohannon has approached some of the heavyweight companies (irony probably not intended) including Krispy Kreme, Dunkin’ Doughnuts and Starbucks about carrying it.”

This writer, for one, will miss the traditional combo. There is an almost sensuous pleasure involved in dunking a doughnut into the day’s first cup of coffee, not to mention the opportunity it provides to test one’s early morning reflexes and aim. Be that as it may, one cannot deny the inexorable march of progress and, on the bright side, think of all the time we’ll save by being able to skip the java. Now, if the good doctor can just figure out a way to add nicotine to his new product, he will have created the perfect doughnut and can hope to interest the tobacco companies as well.

Deja vu is a strange and disconcerting sensation, but there’s another that can make you even dizzier. It’s when your mind tells you “There’s a lesson to be learned, here.” Sometimes, what follows is a new understanding, but, all too often, that lesson, whatever it is, remains just out of reach…

The Three Musketeers

From early 1980 until mid-1994, I attended the division’s weekly supervisors conferences. We’d gather in the boss’ office to discuss our sections’ progress and to get any new marching orders. Early on at these sessions, Al and Jim and I came to be known as “the three musketeers” on account of our habit of bringing up administrative problems and suggesting ways they might be solved. This nickname didn’t sound like a curse, but it wasn’t a compliment either. Raising extra issues simply made the conferences last longer which irritated some of our colleagues.

One meeting still haunts me. It started at four o’clock on a Wednesday, in late 1993, and, as we gathered around the conference table, it was already getting dark. To the north, the only remnant of daylight was a soft yellowish glow clinging to the upper-most floors of the Empire State Building. The meeting got under way and was, pretty much, the same old crap. The boss pretended the newest list of rules and regulations would help all of us do our jobs better; every supervisor claimed he was meeting his projected goals; and, true to form, Athos and Porthos and I each raised a bureaucratic snafu and led the ensuing discussion of how to fix it.

A few minutes before five, just as Porthos finished skewering one of his favorite problems and had sheathed his rapier, my head began to throb and I felt suddenly feverish. Along with these symptoms came a swift and biting sense of deja vu. Squirming in my chair, I tried to recall everything that had transpired in the last hour.  The answer, when it finally arrived, felt like a piece of hot, sharp steel driven into my own guts. Each of the issues the three musketeers had raised, that afternoon, had been brought up and talked about in a supervisors meeting way back in 1980. The exact same three problems with the exact same discussion surrounding them.

I was about to comment on this interesting fact, when the boss saved me any such foolishness. “OK, that’s it,” he intoned. “I’ll see you all, next week” As I stood to leave with everyone else, I paused to take another look out the window. The sky was completely dark, but Manhattan sparkled with its own galaxy of lights. “Come visit us,” they winked at me, “and we’ll fix anything that’s troubling you.”

I walked back to my office. A full in-basket glowered at me, but it could wait until tomorrow. I put everything away, bundled up and went across the street to one of the office’s favorite watering holes. Settling my butt onto a well-worn barstool, I ordered a scotch. A vague thought was tickling the back of my mind. Something I needed to remember. Something important. Now, what was it, anyway? Feeling a touch of my earlier feverishness, I caught the bartender’s eye and ordered another.

A few Haiku for year end revelers…

New Year’s Eve Haiku

it doesn’t matter
not knowing what the words mean
come sing Auld Lang Syne

I’m not this silly
pointed hat and tooting horn
give wrong impression

have another one
nothing kills sadness quicker
a glass of bubbly

bright gleaming ball
slipping, sliding down the pole
satisfying ‘thunk’

champagne sensation
just like sex, only better
bubbles in the nose

for the coming year
I hereby resolve to make
no resolutions