Going into
the donut shop as usual last Saturday morning, I saw Les sitting at a table in
the corner, reading a newspaper. Not surprising, given that the donut shop is
across the street from the office complex we both occupied over a seven-year
period.
Les is an
accountant, and like me, he works erratic hours, so it was not unusual for us
to run into each other on evenings or weekends, when the office was mostly
deserted, and strike up a conversation. It’s been more than five years since I
moved out of the office, but Les is still there — though apparently not for
long.
After I
picked up my donuts we got to talking, and it seems he’s about ready to ease
into retirement, which would mean not being across the street from the donut
shop on Saturday morning. We caught up on things for several minutes, and I had
the opportunity to find out about his big step and to wish him well.
Leaving Matters to Chance
Afterwards
I got to thinking about the sheer luck of the encounter. If I’d been there
twenty minutes earlier or later, as I easily might have, I’d likely have missed
him altogether. And if he retired and started getting to the donut shop less
because he’s not coming to work on Saturday mornings, I might never have seen
him again.
That chance
encounter reminded me again of how fragile our human contacts are, and how easy
it is for people to slip out of our lives and for us to slip out of theirs. We
have very few people who are friends for life, but plenty of others could have
been friends for longer than they were if only one of the parties had taken a
bit more initiative to maintain contact.
Over the
years I’ve tried to keep in touch with people and have probably been a bit
above average in that regard. Several friends have told me that they appreciate
my taking the initiative to get together for lunch or coffee because they often
feel too swamped to make the move themselves. Even so, I’m far from perfect and hold numerous regrets about people I wish
I’d called sooner and more often.
The Other Issues
Two weeks
ago I turned 64, and while the indicators are good for my show running a while
longer, I am becoming acutely aware of the fact that there’s a final curtain
waiting out there — for both me and my friends. Staying in touch with people,
and in some cases trying to rekindle friendships that burned out when the fire
was neglected have to be priorities now.
Other
issues arise from not seeing people in a while. I’ve been involved in the
community for decades and know a large number of people at least somewhat, but
I’m starting to find myself occasionally forgetting a name or mistaking one
person for another. At a recent book-signing, I was mortified when I called a
woman “Gwen,” when her name is Nita. I read in the Times that the reason older people are more forgetful owes less to
brain malfunction than to the fact they have so much to remember. I really wish
I could believe that — especially when the computer between my ears disconcertingly
clicks on the wrong icon.
On the
other hand I was recently reviewing some soon-to-be-public documents for a
client and caught a misspelling in the name of a man known to almost everyone
in town. So I suppose I still have a few marbles left, and as long as there’s
even one, I can keep on playing. And inviting a friend to join me.
