Wednesday. Oops! Sorry I wrote it was Wednesday before. Sorry about the repetition. Last night I watched That’ll Be The Day, starring David Essex and Ringo Starr from 1972. I always wanted to see that movie and it was in my Netflix queue so I took it out. Pretty good flick it was. After that I could be found laying in bed drifting off to sleep. The street that I live on is relatively a quiet street, and when I have the windows open I can hear normal conversations on the street while being five floors above the street. Last night it sounded like there was a cocktail party going on, all glasses with ice clinking in the next room. Nice but it was 11:30 on a Tuesday night and I needed to get some shut eye. I slept until I couldn’t sleep anymore due to the alarm clock going off.
I didn’t take a bath and I decided not to let my beard grow. I also decided to forgo the tea and oatmeal, opting for something different. And why not? Today was to be a day of different things. Or was it?
I left my skateboard at home and started walking to the Path train. Then I remembered that I usually take a bus into the city so I stuck with that original plan. On the way I saw that handsome dude who works at the shoe maker’s store. He’s always enthusiastic when I walk in their store. This morning he saw me and I saw him and neither one of us said anything to the other. I was reminded when I saw him that I had shoes being repaired and I was supposed to pick them up yesterday.
Sat down on the rather large vehicle winding it’s way down Washington Street, reading a New Yorker from a few weeks ago. Most of the events that were happening had passed so there was no point in reading that part. I hadn’t gotten to the Oliver Sacks piece so I haven’t come down with any symptoms yet. Oh but I will.
Today was Carla the receptionist’s birthday. She’s turned a ripe old 23. She’s such a sweetie that I got permission to go ahead and buy a cake for a spur of the moment party in the afternoon. That meant going out onto the streets and searching for a cake. I wandered through Grand Central Station, in the basement where there are quite a few dining establishments, but none that had the cake that I wanted. I walked by the salad joint where Billie’s been working and popped in. Billie told me he would be in town for two more weeks so he’ll be able to see the B-52’s with me and Bill in Brooklyn next week. I went to a Hallmark Store, breaking my vow not to buy cards anywhere in the city except for Farfetched. I bought a card and a Haagen Dazs cake. Not cheap but I should be reimbursed. There are limits to my largess.
On my journey I bought Carla some chattering teeth and a Magic 8 Ball. It seemed like an Ann Boyles thing to do. We had some ice cream cake, about 12 of us in a conference room. That lasted about 15 minutes, no champagne, just cake and water. I gave Carla a hug as I left the office for the day, a job well done.
Came home picked up my shoes which were as good as they were when they first lbought them about six years ago. The dude from the street this morning was there and mentioned seeing me this morning and he apologized for not saying anything to me. I told him it was alright since I barely had a cup of coffee and would probably only growl. The owner of the shop saw my Guyabera and ran off to show me that he and his sons and daughter were photographed all wearing Guyaberas (guyaberi?). These people are so nice to me. The dude made a point to shake my hand after I paid for my shoes
I also found out my cousin Jackie passed away last night. So there’s a wake in the works. Jackie was a good guy. We disagreed on politics and several other points, but he was the one who lent us credence that me and my sister and brothers weren’t crazy, that our Dad really did a number on us. He was also my confirmation sponsor. He gave me forty bucks which in 1974 to an 11 year old kid was like a hundred dollars. We would try to connect when we saw each other at the occasional function, looking for something to talk about. Despite his right wing views, he liked Bill and accepted him as part of the family. Bill always called him the original since Jackie and I shared the same name. Jackie is a form of John. He was the last of my father’s family that we were in contact with. Jackie was part of a different generation, in many ways closer to my parents than he was to us. But that was alright, let them sit and drink and smoke their Salems, Kents and Marlboros. They could all be doing that right now, somewhere.
Slán agus beannacht leat, Jackie. Goodbye and blessings with you.