A rollicking bunch: After all these years, they’re still partying on Saturday night.
For decades, this group has gotten together on Saturday nights for an evening out. For most of those years, my father was there also.
I’ve been there many times myself — and not only on Saturdays. For years, it was spaghetti night at Pockets also (Thursdays).
Tonight, I just happened to be visiting my mom when my uncle showed up and invited me to tag along for dinner.
I rode to Blue Bay with my Uncle Sonny and Aunt Phyllis. I sat in the back seat, with Mom and Billy. Phyllis drove.
I shared the small salmon plate with my Mom. It was more than enough.
Dino, the owner, sent us a complimentary order of potato wedges. I ate more of these than all the others put together.
My youngest daughter was there also — working. She’s a waitress at Blue Bay. She has asked that I not go there while she is working, and I’ve honored that request. But she seemed to be okay.
When we were leaving, it occurred to me that it’s been awhile since I’ve been with this group. After my father passed away, four years ago, the Thursday nights at Pockets began to become more scarce. And now, Pockets is closed.
Not all of them have been well. My mom’s Alzheimer’s has progressed. She’s fallen and hurt herself a few times and been unable to go out.
Others in this picture have spent time convalescing — at home, in nursing homes, rehab, and the hospital.
There have been issues with my siblings that have resulted in diminishing family get-togethers.
And I’m often distracted by work and whatever else I’m doing.
I’ve had many meals with many people — but the conversation with these folks is my favorite.
During dinner, Billy asked me if I had seen the latest play at Piedmont Players. I said no and asked him if he had seen it. He said it got a good review and he was going Thursday. They discussed the play’s lead actress — someone worth discussing, apparently — but no one could remember her name or really anything about her. Someone said this may be “her first play.” Not so, someone else responded. “She’s been in a lot of plays.” Someone else said she may be “from out of town.” Nobody really knew. I could Google it, but I won’t.
Paul and I talked for a minute about Obama and the word on the street about his job performance. He remarked on how much various countries were giving to Haiti, compared to the U.S., and commented particularly on Russia’s measly contribution.
Paul described what he considers an incredibly heavy use of credit card shopping during this past Christmas season.
Naomi asked me what I was writing. I told her that I had not been writing much, just the occasional blog, “on the internet.” She advised me to write something like Coffee Therapy again, to protect what I write, and to keep it off the internet.
Leon asked me if I thought the Massachusetts Senate election marked a trend. I said yes, and then pontificated for a moment.
Billy said that Presidents always lose seats in mid-term elections.
I also told Leon, my dear uncle, in far too much detail, about how I had broken my printer today, in an effort to clean it.
Naomi said that Obama was spending so much money. I kind of wanted to respond to this, but Mom interrupted before I could.
Conversation jumped from one interesting topic to another. I missed some, having to help my mom across the restaurant to the restroom — three times.
As we were leaving, it occurred to me that this is a special group, and a special moment, and I needed a picture.
I announced my request that they gather for a picture, and somebody said, “Why?”
I didn’t want to say, “Well, I might not have so many opportunities to take this picture again.”
So I said I wanted to send it to my daughter, Sarah, in Alaska. This reason was more than satisfactory, and they all gathered.
The next challenge was getting their attention. I took one photo with everybody looking all over the place. I don’t think my mother understood that I was trying to take a picture.
So I said, “Mom — look over here!” Everybody looked, and I got this picture. A fine looking group.
I think I know the age of everybody in this picture, within a year or two, but I will not report this here. Suffice it to say, the average age, not counting me, is about 85. (Counting me, it’s 80!).
Nor will I patronize them by discussing their resumés. Suffice it to say, they are downtown folks, top community leaders from the heart of the 20th century history of Salisbury, NC.
All dear friends. Not a Facebook page among them. Still the best dinner conversation a person could ask for.