Wait, she took and lost your father’s Cross pen and she was still welcome to visit you in Panama…with an airport pick-up?
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Welcome is a little strong. She was the wife of one of my oldest, closest friends, and of course the daughter is his, too. So, you know. I will say that she is quite independent. I woke up one morning to find them gone, they bussed off to some surf town. And I didn’t have to take them back to the airport, they took another bus.
Plus, she’d been annoying the shit out of me for years so I was somewhat inured to it.
The three of us shared a couple of houses over the years. She’s German and is one of those people who walks by jamming the heel of her foot into the floor as hard as possible. Michael and I would be downstairs in our studio/rehearsal area and you’d hear her goose stepping around upstairs. Very disconcerting. But of course that was super low level annoyance compared to the spectrum of her general capabilities.
I guess I just feel bad that I was welcome to visit and never did. One of my great regrets.
Yeah, it’s too bad, that would have been a great time. Of course, I flaked on the Ireland deal. I couldn’t make that work for some reason. But I reckon I’ll have another couple of shots at that at some point.
Absolutely.
I could not stand my best friend’s wife either. My tongue has multiple scars from my biting it often.
I have another good friend who was married to someone immeasurably worse, I mean, just an irredeemable human being. He’s now married to a perfectly lovely woman, but back then, man, I’m surprised I didn’t bite my tongue clean off.
The German chick had grown up poor and sort of totally unsupervised and as a result had learned to fend for herself, and the end product of all of that was the kind of self-absorption, a me-first attitude that was in part learned self-preservation. So, generous fellow that I am, I cut her some slack when I could. But I’ll never get over that pen.
Of course my friend had to buy her a house, so sometimes I feel a little petty bitching about a pen. But I’ll never get over it.
My best friend’s wife invited herself along for 2-3 days on one of our annual ST trips. Mark and my friend’s daughter rode the train with us both ways.
We shared a two-bedroom hotel room. Every night in our room Mark said “I am going to kill her” about the wife. I should have let him.
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The pen was priceless.
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Yep.
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On a happier note, I recently uncovered a leather binder Dad made when he was a young man. He worked in a boot maker’s, M. L. Leddy’s in Sinangela, and he made a variety of leather products, the binder, a holster. I don’t know whether he was on the clock while he was crafting these things or just what, but the binder is smallish and the three rings require an odd size paper, a size I’d never seen. Happily Bezos knows all about it and I now have the paper filled binder sitting on one of my desks. On the inside it’s engraved, stamped? with his first two initials and surname which, coincidentally, I share.
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'85 Suburban
The binder is uber-cool. I carry the standard A5 journal book in my bag, for taking notes at meetings and whatnot, and I carry a jotter pad and cards for quick notes or leaving a note for someone else. Stationary is one of those cool things that has been much forgotten but is always handy when you need it. Of course, I’m a tremendous nerd, so…
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After moving the the US in 1994, I could never understand why everyone in meetings had A5 journals. Since getting one, I cannot understand how I ever survived without one.
Meanwhile, my Lamy Safari has bedded in perfectly, and I love writing with it. My journal is filling up with nonsense that I don’t really need to have recorded, but any excuse to whip out the pen.
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Excuse me while I whip this out…
Just keep some of those thoughts private.
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The phallic nature of this entire thread is undeniable.
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