Old Customers, Old Friends

A fella came into the old barn yesterday and asked, "Are you Marty?" 

Seeing as I am, I answered yes. He needed a cable repaired, explaining that I had fixed it for him before. As proof, he showed me the invoice from the previous repair, dated 4/23/1996. It was signed: Paid, Cash, Marty Cosgriff.

That was literally the day after my 36th birthday. Seeing as I'm 65 as we speak, that makes it nearly 30 years since that last job.

I fixed the cable, and the man and I had a pleasant talk. He joked whether the warranty had expired. I joked back that unfortunately it had, and that 1996 prices had expired too. We laughed, and actually had a good visit.

It's nice seeing old friends. And I like days like yesterday.

The Years Go By

I've long been told that the older we get, the faster time flies. I think it's true.

A year ago at this time I looked forward to a Hessel trip this past May. Now that and two other visits have come and gone. I've seen baseball games in two new stadiums. A long anticipated trip to New York City is three weeks in the rear view mirror. And now I'm back to pining for the next trip. Next trips.

I try to live in the moment anymore. That helps, but the moments still go. Even at that, I do believe I appreciate them more. 

I sound as though I'm talking out of both sides of my mouth. I suppose I am. I honestly don't feel melancholy as I think about the past four or five months. It's more a realization that, as I become an old timer myself, the old timers were right. Time does fly. Enjoy the minute.

I guess you just gotta get old to appreciate it, eh?

Nostalgia

All the kids were in town over the weekend for the first time in, well, a long time. 

We needed to be somewhere at Noon this past Sunday. A couple of hours before departure I went to remind them of that. Tapping on their bedroom doors, as they all slept in their childhood bedrooms, I informed each, "Let's go. We have to be there at 12."

I hadn't had to do that in ages. For one Sunday morning I was a Dad again. It felt good. How they felt, I don't know.

But I'm the Dad. They're the ones who have to adjust to that.

Sentimental old guys

I think yesterday I had my first wistful old guy moment.

A call came in from a fellow I hadn't seen in better than thirty years; I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name. Back then he worked for Smith Plumbing yet had long since left for a different job.

These days he's the plumber for a nearby school district. For years he hated the drain snake they had. But then through Dame Fortune he stumbled onto one of ours, a genuine Electric Eel Model C exactly like he used at Smith's. It was buried in storage, where Cloyce discovered it looking for something else. Needing a few cutting tools he went to Electric Eel's website and found us. "Marty, it's a voice from the past. I'm Cloyce. I worked at Smith's, remember?"

"In fact I do," I answered. Indeed I remembered his voice quite clearly. "How are you?"

"Good." He explained the situation and when I said I had what he wanted in stock, he came on down.

An hour later he was in the old barn and we were talking old times. "Mr. Smith died awhile back. Drank himself to death unfortunately," Cloyce explained.

"That's sad," I responded sadly. You do hate to hear things like that.

Cloyce's face then noticeably lit up. "Hey, how's your Dad?" he asked expectantly.

"We lost him six years ago last month. June 25th."

"I'm really sorry Marty. I always liked listening to his jokes and stories."

"Thanks. I, I like hearing that," I stammered.

We spent an hour talking about old plumbers, telling each other tales neither of us (I think) had heard before. We talked about old Tiger Stadium and how we both missed it, that we both had good times taking our kids there. He showed me pictures of an old Corvette Stingray he'd bought off Smith's widow. He restored it and was going to sell it. "Too much car for me, but the guy who was first trying to buy it was ripping her off."

It was odd hearing Cloyce's voice coming from the face of a much older man. He maybe thought the same about me. I guess that's how it is when you don't see someone in three decades.

It was a nice visit. "I'm glad you guys are still in it. It was good to see you man," Cloyce was saying as he left.

"Good seeing you too," I said, and I meant it truly.

"I'll be back when I need more stuff."

"Great, thanks." He got into his work truck and was on his way.

I made myself a cup of coffee on my new used Keurig and sat quietly at my desk for a few minutes. After taking a sip when the coffee had cooled a bit I thought, 'Well, the old barn ain't gonna clean itself'. I went back to work.

I understand old guys now

I met an old friend for dinner yesterday, someone I've know, well, over 35 years now. We met in college, at the University of Detroit, (the University of Detroit Mercy be damned). We're Titans, the Titans of Dick Vitale and John Long and Terry Tyler. Y'all others are pretenders.

Over a few beers, which aren't healthy for us, supposedly, and with several plates of food not healthy for us either (say those supposedly concerned about our health), we discussed old times. We discussed new times too, and the conversation went something like this:

Oh, my back is tight. I took a fall a few years back and it goes out all the time.

I gotta watch what I eat. Diabetes runs in the family, so I worry about my sugar.

My last time to the doctor, my blood pressure's too high. So he says I can't eat anything I like.

You see my pinky? It swells up with rheumatoid arthritis so bad I can't hardly bend it. So does my thumb.

My left shoulder develops tendonitis from time to time. It hurts so bad I can't raise my arm.

I turn, just a bit, my back goes out. Poof, like that (snaps fingers).

Pause.

You wanna golf? Let's golf. The senior rate is $25 with a cart after 1 PM, and seniors are over 55. 18 holes.

18 holes? Let's do that.

And I thought, man, he's old. Then I immediately thought, so are you. You just spent a two hour dinner talking about all your aches and pains.

Ah well. Not something a little nip won't cure. And I have just the remedy at hand.