Haddock, No Breadcrumbs please....
For a brief but fun period in my life, I cooked in a diner.
Not the greasy spoon kind but the hip and trendy sort. A place off a rural highway in Pelham, Massachusetts filled with funky local Art, massive colorful beanbags, an open mic, and organic coffee. Helping out the friend of a dear friend whip up desserts, fresh panini, soups and noodle salads with my sunny personality and astute knowledge of running a restaurant. Okay, so the latter is truer. My personality more charming than sunny.
Over the course of the next few months, one particular older gentleman would come in at least once a week. When I say older I mean an elderly man in his mid 80's. A widower certainly, always well dressed and always arriving in his immaculate cream-colored Mercedes Benz. He reminded me of a preppy Clint Eastwood.
His name was Larry and we hit it off immediately one afternoon over talk of cars, particularly Mercedes Benz of which I was an enthusiast. It didn't matter our vast age difference which he mentioned more than a few times in conversation---we were two people with a passion for the automobile. Racing them, collecting them ( both of which he did). We became fast friends.
The fact that we were several generations apart never seemed to matter in our year-long friendship. My boyfriend at home not at all shocked that I had made buddies with yet another elderly person. All of my life holding several friendships with people a handful of decades older than myself. My soul simply connected better with them. A kismet, if you will.
One afternoon after introducing me to his pride and joy, a beautifully restored 1945 MG Roadster...he invited me for a drive and then lunch at his favorite seafood place a few towns away. Tongues wagged of course, seeing the two of us together--an elderly man and much younger woman--but we didn't care. Off we would go, driving winding country roads talking about cars, Formula 1 racing season, his beloved late wife, his time as a soldier in World War II and realizing with glee that we both had a misanthropic streak. We enjoyed each other's company like two peas in a pod.
When we arrived at his favorite restaurant, we were often greeted by the same older, red-headed waitress that teased Larry about his younger lunch date...which I know Larry secretly loved. His blue eyes twinkling as he pretended to scoff haughtily, tugging at his khaki Izod windbreaker. We both ordered the haddock, his with extra butter and breadcrumbs and me, just a bit of butter, no breadcrumbs, please. A root beer for him and a diet coke for me. The two of us, an unlikely duo.....smiling happily and chatting away about almost anything with ease. He was a sunny spot in my life and I, his.
We met on and off for almost a year until one day I knocked at his front door for our visit. He opened the door with a faraway look in his bright blue eyes......a look I knew all too well being acquainted with the elderly. Larry didn't remember me.
I had seen the signs scattered here and there over those last few months so I knew what was upon him.
His neighbor greeting me in the driveway as I left..... feeling very deflated and a bit broken-hearted---- to explain to me the recent developments in Larry's failing health. They were moving him to a nursing home.
Our afternoons of driving, car talk and baked haddock were behind us.
A few years had passed before I allowed myself to look at the local obituaries. Then one day, there it was. What I didn't want to see, read or allow myself to believe.
For me, Larry is still in his garage. Working on his MG.......
© 2019CJEllisLTD.
His name was Larry and we hit it off immediately one afternoon over talk of cars, particularly Mercedes Benz of which I was an enthusiast. It didn't matter our vast age difference which he mentioned more than a few times in conversation---we were two people with a passion for the automobile. Racing them, collecting them ( both of which he did). We became fast friends.
The fact that we were several generations apart never seemed to matter in our year-long friendship. My boyfriend at home not at all shocked that I had made buddies with yet another elderly person. All of my life holding several friendships with people a handful of decades older than myself. My soul simply connected better with them. A kismet, if you will.
One afternoon after introducing me to his pride and joy, a beautifully restored 1945 MG Roadster...he invited me for a drive and then lunch at his favorite seafood place a few towns away. Tongues wagged of course, seeing the two of us together--an elderly man and much younger woman--but we didn't care. Off we would go, driving winding country roads talking about cars, Formula 1 racing season, his beloved late wife, his time as a soldier in World War II and realizing with glee that we both had a misanthropic streak. We enjoyed each other's company like two peas in a pod.
When we arrived at his favorite restaurant, we were often greeted by the same older, red-headed waitress that teased Larry about his younger lunch date...which I know Larry secretly loved. His blue eyes twinkling as he pretended to scoff haughtily, tugging at his khaki Izod windbreaker. We both ordered the haddock, his with extra butter and breadcrumbs and me, just a bit of butter, no breadcrumbs, please. A root beer for him and a diet coke for me. The two of us, an unlikely duo.....smiling happily and chatting away about almost anything with ease. He was a sunny spot in my life and I, his.
We met on and off for almost a year until one day I knocked at his front door for our visit. He opened the door with a faraway look in his bright blue eyes......a look I knew all too well being acquainted with the elderly. Larry didn't remember me.
I had seen the signs scattered here and there over those last few months so I knew what was upon him.
His neighbor greeting me in the driveway as I left..... feeling very deflated and a bit broken-hearted---- to explain to me the recent developments in Larry's failing health. They were moving him to a nursing home.
Our afternoons of driving, car talk and baked haddock were behind us.
A few years had passed before I allowed myself to look at the local obituaries. Then one day, there it was. What I didn't want to see, read or allow myself to believe.
For me, Larry is still in his garage. Working on his MG.......
© 2019CJEllisLTD.
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