Warm Fuzzy

I had one of those “warm fuzzy” nights last night. Not to be confused with a “wet, sticky” night, because they are totally different things.

My good friend Mike Rogers had a 60^th birthday celebration on Saturday last and I was unable to attend because Louise and I were in California. I suppose that I could have flown back for the evening and then caught a “red eye”, but there are more than a few difficulties attached to that scenario. A month or so ago I had missed another buddies (Don L) 60^th and kind of felt bad about that. I am beginning to sense a pattern here, do you see it? Yep, I hang out with old guys. That just has to stop.

I was pleasantly surprised when Mike called and left a message that the guys were still in town and if we could, it would be nice to get together. I called back and left a message that we would be delighted to attend. The dinner was in Turner Valley, and since we used to live in Black Diamond many years ago I not only knew how to get there, but I knew how long it would take me. Did you know that in 25 years cities will grow, roads will have changed and traffic becomes just a little more congested? Apparently, I don’t.

We did arrive, but about a half hour late. I always say that it is better to be late than to be early, well unless it is a funeral and I am not too keen on being “the late Ken Harrison”, if you get my drift.

We walked into the restaurant and I was pretty surprised at the number of people there. Not only were Don, Rob, Bob and Rob there, but Mike and Esther and their son and daughter with respective wife and husband, two darling aunts that I remember from my childhood, Mikes brother Jim and a lovely yet terribly mixed up waitress were all there. It kind of looked like DaVinci’s “Last Supper”. Well, without the son of God and saints in the making, probably not anyways.

We shook hands and or hugged whichever seemed appropriate, caught up on recent history and relived some of our old glory days. I had the lasagne and I highly recommend it. We took the party back to Mike’s place, but on the way there Mike pulled over to the side of the road. I pulled in behind him thinking that one of the passengers was about to get car sick. Can’t miss a photo op like that! It turns out that there was a large herd of elk off to the side and the Ontario boys wanted to look and take pictures. Fucking tourists! I guess I can’t blame them, when I am in Toronto I will pull over and take pictures of the alcoholics and crack ho’s.

Back at Mikes, we had a couple of drinks and talked some more. This time there weren’t bits and pieces of food flying from everyone’s mouths. It is nice to see that the old gang are still the same fun people that they were back in the day. We laughed and told stories and I even let some other people talk now and then. Not too much, it would be a bad precedent to set. I kept my eye on the aunts, and I took my cue to leave from how tired they looked. We said our goodbyes, hugged those that were huggers and shook hands with the shakers.

Times like that come far too seldom in my life, but I imagine that if they came more often they just wouldn’t be as special. I try not to think of these guys too often, because when I do, I see the empty spot in my heart. Raise a glass to your friends from far away, and I hope that you are as blessed as I am.