A couple of days ago, I got a text message from my great and good friend, J-Co, who I have known since high school, indicating that he would be coming down this weekend, and staying at the house of Kid, another high school friend. We made plans to have lunch in a pub at 12:30PM, and were joined by Scott, who worked with Kid in college. These guys are family.
As is typical, we mused on old times, and joked about aging- middle age is a hell of a time to find out one is lactose intolerant. We spoke of old friends gone silent (a couple of them went through an obnoxious crank stage), and kids gone noisy- when your adolescent boy knows that saying '69' is hilariously transgressive, does one even bother to determine if he knows what it means?
J-Co had lovely things to say about my mother, and her ability to conduct long, meaningful conversations with younger people, noting that his mother didn't have that knack, but his wife does.
I had worked the graveyard shift, and was feeling a bit punchy, but we made plans to hang out at Kid's house, with me heading to the Irish butcher's shop to buy bangers (a particular favorite of J-Co's) and other ingredients for a full-breakfast to be eaten at dinner time. We will probably drink whisky and play video games, maybe watch a classic bad movie from our youth. There's no trip like the nostalgia trip, and here I go...