Great Expectations

A few weeks ago, my wife Lois and I attended the wedding of our friend Mary's daughter. As we drove to Denver, Lois updated me about  Mary's brother Joey.  Joey, with Down syndrome, had lived with his mother all forty-one years of his life. Recently, the mother of and Joey and Mary turned ill; mom and Joey had to move in with Mary and her husband.

When Joey heard that his niece Rachel was to be married, he insisted that he be the best man. Although Rachel told him she had other plans, Joey would hear nothing of it.

When we arrived at the church we were seated. The procession started; it was lead by the priest and Joey. On the program, Joey was listed in the wedding party with a fancy name for alter boy. In his tuxedo, he stood beaming in front of all the wedding guests. After the Rachel and the groom were married, Joey followed the wedding party down the aisle with the priest. As we left the church, Joey was in the receiving line.

At the reception, Mary told me that Joey was to give a toast.  He had been practicing in front of her for many days. The toasts began. First the wedding party principals and then the father of the bride. Next it was Joey's turn.

Joey went a bit off script; his words were hard to understand--but not his conclusion-- that he loved them both very much. I teared up.

After the dancing began, Joey was active in dancing to "Y.M.C.A., the "Chicken Dance," and "We are Family." Then guys could dance with the bride for a buck or more. Joey was standing in line with money his brother-in-law had given him.

Joey didn't stick out; he just was having fun like everyone else. Impressive, was the support and acceptance that all Joey's family gave him.

When Lois and I left, the party was slowing down, but Joey was still having a great time.

Mary told Lois later that Joey crowed all week about what a great job he did.

Maybe didn't understand that he wasn't the real best man, but there was no doubt that he was the "best man."

The Telegram

Circa 1978

On vacation, a call from home seldom bodes good news. While staying with relatives in Wisconsin, I received a call from my neighbor in Colorado. The Western Union man had just left her a telegram from my father. He said it appeared to be urgent and asked if she could contact me. She read these ten carefully selected words:

WAYLAID BY BRIGANDS I'M OK SEND $250 AMERICAN EXPRESS COPENHAGEN=
DAD=

Great! My father had gone off to Europe for the dream trip of his life -- half cocked, as usual. Now he is in another bind and sends us a cryptic note from somewhere in Europe? A master wordsmith, this was conciseness to a fault.

Brigands? I had to check the dictionary. Thieves! Was he hurt? Where was he? No way to know.

Send $250? I didn't have that kind of money with me -- had to borrow it from my uncle. From the bank office, it was like sending money to outer space.

Not being able call Europe and ask, "How's George?," we just had to wait. We returned to Colorado a week later to find a letter from Dad, postmarked a week before the telegram. Recovering in a Paris hospital, he wrote that a thief had thrown him off a standing train onto the live track side -- but not without a fight from my 67-year-old old man. He suffered a skull fracture, concussion, and broken collarbone. He felt okay; French food stank; and the nuns treated him well. In a few days, he planned to continue on to October Fest and then the Scandinavian countries. 

We didn't know any more until he returned home to Montana and gave us a call. He had to borrow $11 from a stranger at the Calgary airport to finish his odyssey back to Helena.

We learned the most about his travel adventures from a series of columns he wrote for a local newspaper. Dad brought back dozens of fabulous realities. Enough material for many  fascinating stories -- where the reader, like his son, asked: "How could you get yourself into so many stupid situations?"

Dad not only observed crazy fabulous realities, he created them.

Who Cares?

Last night Lois and I attended a basketball game at St. Mary's high school. At one corner of the court, a guy sat at a table that held some electronic equipment. Since the scorekeepers were on the other side of the gym, I had no idea what the guy was doing. So, I asked him.

"What are you up to here?"

"I'm announcing the game for La Junta tonight."

When I was a boy, my father was in the radio business and I went with him on remote broadcasts. I remember that besides the announcer, it took an engineer to set up the equipment, connect it to a special telephone line, and to balance the sound from the microphones.

Back at St. Mary's gym, I noticed a small helical shaped antenna. I asked if the antenna connected to a sound truck.

"No," he said, "it's a cell phone antenna. I use a cell phone connection to broadcast to the station."

"How do you talk to the station if you need to coordinate something?" 

"Just use this cell phone," grabbing the phone on his belt.

"So, you do all of this by cell phone?"

"Yep, except when I don't have cell service, then I have to use a phone line. That's a pain."

He then spent five more minutes telling me all about his life as an announcer and about all of his broadcasting equipment--which would fit in a shoe box.

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For many, this is not much of a fabulous reality, but for an electrical engineer, it is fabulous. I doubt that anyone else in the gym noticed or even cared.

 

The Pansy

The ringing phone awakened me.

"Grandpa, Grandpa, is that you?" It was Libby, my five year old granddaughter, in Wenatachee.

"Yeah," I grumbled.

"Grandpa, I just saw a pansy in our garden. It's the first pansy that I have seen in my whole life!

"A pansy in February?"

"Yes, Grandpa and I can't wait until after pre-school to water it. Bye, I have to go to school."

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Some are excited by new things; most never notice them.

Who's up for Pancakes?

A couple of days ago, I recieved this email:

Subject: Who's up for Pancakes?

It’s an old English tradition that my old English grandfather taught us.  On Shrove Tuesday, or Mardi Gras, it has been a tradition in England since the 15th century to eat pancakes, thus using up all of the butter and eggs, which were forbidden during Lent.  However, I’m pretty sure that IHOP will let us in even if we don’t vow to forsake butter and eggs over the next forty days.

Anyone interested?

I wrote back:

Subject: Re: Who's up for Pancakes?

Are you sure that you are sending this message to the correct address?

Geoff in Colorado

I received this reply:

Subject: Re:Who's up for Pancakes?

Oops.  Sorry Geoff.  I was trying to send this to my housemate, Gordon.  Although you?re welcome to come out to northern Virginia and meet us for pancakes this evening.

To which I replied:

Subject: Re: Who's up for Pancakes?

Thanks, I will try to be there, but...we have a lot of icy roads here. Otherwise I will celebrate (have English roots) with lovely wife tonight at an IHOP.  

Geoff

Today, I sent back this reply:

Subject: Re: Who's up for Pancakes?

I want you to know the power that eminates from northern Virginia. I got that old Fat Tuesday craving for pancakes. My wife and I skipped IHOP and went to a Village Inn (more English). It will probably become a tradition.  

With much appreciation,
Geoff in Colorado Springs  

 In a few moments, I recieved the following:

Subject: Re:Who's up for Pancakes?

Your kids will have proof their old man is nuts when you tell them how you started celebrating in this way.

Best of luck,
Jon in Vienna

=================================

Thanks, Jon in Vienna, for starting a new family tradition in Colorado.

The Library

Just as I finished checking out at the grocery store, I saw a friend standing at the copy machine.

"What are you up to, Matt?"

 "A friend of mine wants me to draw a picture of her son. Here's his picture. She wants him in better looking clothes. I found a picture of guy with nice duds in this magazine."

Matt, an engineering manager, is also an artist. I saw him  drawing at Starbucks, and I commented on his work. With similar engineering backgrounds, we have become good friends. Since then, his striking charcoal renderings have continued to improve, and he is getting more commissions for his work.

"Hey, did you buy that magazine?" I kidded.

"Nope. I looked through the magazine rack over there, found this guy who is looking in the right direction for the drawing, and made a copy of it."

"Hey, I said, "that reminds me of the time our family was driving back from Greeley on Colorado county roads. We were doing a crossword puzzle and had a disagreement about how to spell the word "channel." My father, word expert, thought that it had one N."

"We were stuck, and without a dictionary, we couldn't finish the puzzle. But, help ahead--we all had the same idea when we saw the K-Mart. We stopped. Went straight to the book section, picked up a dictionary, and found to my dad's chagrin that channel had two Ns. We didn't buy the dictionary; didn't need one."

"My teenage daughter was mortified. A pain she still carries."

"Good story. Here's the picture I copied," said Matt, showing me the thick annual edition of  'People,' and its $10.99 price tag.

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   Admission and rationalization: Many times I have browsed magazines at the bookstand and then haven't bought them.
 

 

Hungry Pregnant Women

Our cancer support group meeting was over. The last to leave, I noticed a lot of food left on the table. Knowing that it would all be trashed, I decided to take some home: a plate of fruit and veggies; and a pile of those buck-and-a-half Starbuck-like cookies.

Just as I finished wrapping up a stack of cookies, ten pregnant women lumbered back into the room with their partners. They had been taking a Lamaze class in a small conference room off our larger room when we were meeting. I was surprised to see them come back, because I had seen them leave.

"I thought you guys all left."

"We had to go to the bathroom," they said in unison.

"Why did you come back?" I asked.

"All that food." 

"Eat what you want before they take it away," I said. "Here are some cookies if you want them."

Soon all the famished women had plates full of veggies and fruit. A few took some cookies and their partners took the rest.

The sirons on the table were too much to resist. The snacks were gone. I left with one cookie. The food nourished their babies..