We had house guests this weekend, friends we’ve known since before we were married. I guess that means we’ve known them for around forty years, maybe longer. That stuns me. How could we have been friends for forty years, when I’m only twenty-eight? Well, I feel twenty-eight, emotionally. Physically, I guess the scars of living, coupled with ignoring healthy lifestyle habits, reveal my true age. But among those scars are keepsakes, quiet secrets one gathers up in the recesses of one’s brain to treasure in the privacy of reflective thought. Like a friendship of forty years.
Our friends arrived on Friday afternoon. Between Friday afternoon and their departure on Sunday morning, we ate pizza twice. And we drank wine as if we might be able to transform all known vineyards into deserts. (A couple of us also explored the beers of Hot Springs.) I attempted to satisfy hunger with bacon and eggs one morning and a Japanese-inspired breakfast the next; my attempt at Japanese was less than stellar. But we made up for all my food failings by eating homemade coffee ice cream brought all the way from Fort Smith. And we wandered the Village and Hot Springs and environs. But mostly we enjoyed the company of friends.
We talked about the possibility that our friends might consider moving to the Village. When that possibility surfaced, my heartbeat quickened. But they’re also considering buying an RV and wandering the country. Hmm. Maybe if they get one big enough we can come along for the ride. I daydream a lot. My imagination takes me places that don’t exist, places between reality and fantasy, tempered with wishes and dreams against a backdrop of the real world. But that’s not what this paragraph is about, is it? No, it is not. It is about the possibility, however, remote, that our friends could conceivably live nearby at some point. And we’d be able to see them much more frequently than a once-or-twice-a-year visit in one anothers’ homes. So, I’ll begin the hunt. I’ll periodically scan Zillow for possibilities nearby. And I’ll drop hints, complete with URL links to houses on the market and events of interest. And, of course, mentions of ethnic food festivals and the like will play a part in my suggestive communications.
But all of that will have to wait. This morning, I go for my annual physical, where I’ll report to the doctor that my cough has not disappeared. And then I’ll attend the Writers’ Club meeting. And then I’ll tell the insurance broker than I’m not sure about the Medicare supplements and I want to know more about coverage, comparing one company to the next. Ach! Such a troublesome interference with the enjoyment of retirement!
Temperatures are forecast to rise to the low eighties today, a harsh reminder that the highs in the sixties over the weekend were simply teasers. Fall is not here, not really. Bah! I want a different climate. On to my second cup of coffee and preparations for the day.