Odyssey

R.I.P. Uncle Charlie
Thanks for All the Fish

I read the online version of my hometown newspaper each day.  Earlier this week I noticed the obituary of a close friend of my father, a man I knew as Uncle Charlie.  I was amazed that he was still with us as he passed away at the age of 99, so he had a good run.  I had a lot of good memories of Uncle Charlie, he lived just around the corner from us and his teenaged (and incredibly cute to an eight year old boy) daughter babysat for my sisters and I.  I remember him as a voice of reason that was needed in my father’s life.  More than that I remembered him taking my father and I fishing in his boat each year on the first day of trout season in New Hampshire.

Those annual Saturdays are some of the best memories of my childhood.  I would sleep on the couch downstairs because we were getting up very early (very exciting at the time- something I outgrew).   We would be out on Swanzey Lake before dawn and always came home with our limit.  Uncle Charlie loved the outdoors and passed on that passion to me.  I tried to emulate the same type event with my own son during one visit home when he was very young – it was a lot less magical for him.  Uncle Charlie loved to sing and any visit to his house ended up with some time on the organ. When my ride to my first day at college fell through Uncle Charlie and Aunt Evie dropped everything they were doing and drove me and all my accouterment all the way across the state. Flushed with all these great memories I felt it was my duty to attend his funeral  yesterday.  I felt I owed him some measure of respect for all those Swanzey Lake mornings, a debt to my own father as well. 

I sat at the back of the room, which took place in the same room as my mother’s funeral, and saw my teenaged crush now had pure white hair.  She was still gracious and I enjoyed the stories told about Uncle Charlie, some by his almost teenaged great-granddaughter.  Uncle Charlie stayed active right up the end, although he couldn’t hike any more he marked his 99^th birthday with an airplane flight over his beloved Mount Mondadnock.  As I passed through the receiving line I introduced myself to the daughter who remembered my father and the fish fries that followed our annual trout fishing expeditions.  I left with a feeling that I had redeemed a very large debt in a very small way.

I did take the opportunity to have lunch with my Keene friend while there.  We had lunch at Friendly’s and I had to mark the height of Western lunch technology – a cheeseburger and fries.  In my opinion Friendly’s version of this favorite lunch is transcendent.

My trip up to my hometown was not without controversy.  My wife, who never knew Uncle Charlie, indicated earlier in the week that she was not going to go with me.  She said she had a mountain of things to do and didn’t want to lose half a day.  I was getting ready to leave and she asked me if I wanted her to come and I told her that no, she could do all the things she needed to do.  This was the wrong thing to say.  It was okay for her to decide not to go but my agreement with that decision apparently sent the signal that I didn’t care about her.  Thirty years and counting and I still haven’t figured her out.  As I made my solitary ride up to Keene, I found myself missing the presence of my energetic co-pilot.  I’m really married.

I returned home to find myself forgiven.  Yesterday was Mother’s Day in Panama and my wife used the time to make dozens of calls to family and friends down there.  We were scheduled for a dinner and dance in Worcester to mark the occasion, although my official position is that Mother’s Day is only celebrated in the US in May (slippery slope there).  Buddy and I were watching the Army football team lose to the Navy once again when we heard a strange knocking from upstairs.

Neither of us could figure it out so we ignored it for a few minutes although Buddy was increasingly on alert.  I finally said if she knocked again that would mean she needed my help.  The knocks came and I went upstairs to find my wife in our whirlpool bath completely submerged under a mountain of bubbles.  After I stopped laughing long enough she explained that she had put “just a little soap” in the bath, turned on the jets, and then leaned back, her eyes closed in relaxation.  She first realized she had a problem when she opened her eyes and found herself buried in a cloud of bubbles which were overflowing the sides of the tub.  She adamantly refused permission for a photo of the devastation but I did snap one of the bubbles I bailed out of the tub and put into the shower.

My wife (de-bubbled) and I drove into Worcester for the dinner.  While driving we enjoyed a phone call from our son who literally took my breath away with some Christmas gift news (I am blessed). The dinner was in an American Legion hall and was very low budget but lots of fun.  This is the best thing about being married to a Latina.  Whenever you get a group together loud music and dancing usually follows.  I love the “sabor de vida” a taste of life which in reality is a real zest for life.  There is a love of family and friends that is infectious and if you can get over being the only gringo in the room I guarantee a great time.  We joined some of our normal cronies from the Worcester Chapter of the Panamanian mafia and danced the rest of the night away. 

I covered a lot of ground yesterday and it felt like a journey from some of my earliest good memories (Uncle Charlie) to the present.  Time well spent.

Lunch Transcendent

Recovered Bubbles Cover Floor of Shower

My Wife and Panamanian Mafia Counterpart

Mafia on the Move

My Wife and I on the Dance Floor Last Night