Who’s ready for a rambling, stream-of-consciousness post? If you’re not, you have come to the wrong blog. It was a week ago that I started feeling ill. I went to the doctor immediately on Saturday, because I wanted to be well enough to go to a wedding on Friday. COVID and flu tests were negative. The test for me being a baby was positive. I slept much of last weekend, but there was nothing out of the ordinary about that.
The rest of my week went like this.
- When I awoke Monday, I was pretty sick. My family prebooked a funeral home.
- I thought I felt slightly better on Tuesday, and Amazon delivered the embalming fluids my wife ordered to our house.
- I refused to drink any more of the embalming fluids on Wednesday as I entertained thoughts of surviving to at least the weekend.
- On Thursday, my wife called Amazon to see if she could return the rest of the unused embalming fluid. Despite Amazon’s denial, I continued to improve.
- Friday night, my wife and I attended the wedding.
It was the wedding of a former next door neighbor. We were honored to be invited, but why were we? The groom explained that my wife was like a second mother to him. Hello? What about me? Wasn’t I his Little League baseball coach who would position the groom at shortstop and my oldest son at second base to form a reliable, but unspectacular, middle infield? I never had to worry about one of those two covering second base. Wasn’t I the one who drove the groom and my son to visit the college they ended up attending? Wasn’t I the one who took the groom to his first gentlemen’s club and gave him his first handgun with the serial number filed off, not necessarily in that order? Okay, so maybe that wasn’t me on that last question.
Regardless of the reason we were invited, we were honored. I did give the groom some advice after I got a good look at his feet.
Maybe spend a little less on the shoes to be able to afford a pair of socks. Despite the sockless groom, it was a lovely wedding in a hip Chicago venue.
I spent some time speaking with a 70 year old man who could have passed for 45. He was full of energy and passion for life. He showed us his art that he’s creating now that he’s retired. He encouraged us to make sure we have a passion to pursue. I couldn’t agree more. He asked to read my award-winning book of short stories. If he emails me, I’ll send it to him.
On a side note, I noticed something encouraging. I had no idea the 70 year old was gay. My wife explained to me all the clear signs that he was, including when he alluded to being gay. It used to be something that was important to me. It no longer is. Progress.
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