Life would be infinitely happier if we could only be born at eighty and gradually approach eighteen. Mark Twain
It is not the years in your life but the life in your years that counts. Adlai Stevenson
Because my mother remarried at the age of seventy five, and because she decided to relocate to Milwaukee where her new husband resided, she and her new husband wanted to celebrate this auspicious occasion by throwing a huge party. The wedding reception was to be in the back yard of Mom and Tom's new house.
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| Mom 2007 at a niece's wedding |
Naturally, many relatives were asked to come to the Barbeque and to her surprise her two remaining brothers [there had been four ] called and RSVP'ed. Mom was touched and amazed. Patrick, age 73 was practically a hermit in Chicago and Robert, age 80 lived in California and seldom had contact with either his brother or sister. They said they were going to join forces and come to the reception together.
Let me diverge to describe these men as they were, before I tell you what happen at the party. These men were very handsome in their day, with strongly etched faces, large distinguished noses, red hair, freckles, piercing sky blue eyes, soft voices, and a kind and calm demeanor. Robert, the second oldest of five, was brainy and very directed in his youth. He headed out to California after the war, married and had eight children. Patrick, the baby of the family was according to my Mom "always trailing behind me trying to catch up." He was a risk taker and occassionally would rise to a dare. My Mom once challenged him to learn "Rhapsody in Blue" [Gershwin] which was a new piece and one he greatly admired. Though only twenty and unable to read music, he learned to play the entire score by ear. Grit and determination marked his life from the competitiveness in the family.
Pat and Rob were the brave men of the 40's who served in WWII. Pat chose to stay first in Paris and ultimately to live many years in Mexico city. In the nearly twenty years that he lived in Mexico he became a book publisher, owned and ran a bakery, wrote
A Short History of Mexico, married and became a widower. Rob married directly after the war, had the big family and worked in the aerospace industry.
Mexico lost it's appeal for Pat after his wife died and when his mother, our beloved GG, became ill so he moved back to his roots, Chicago. He worked for the state lottery system in Illinois settled into his small apartment, frequented museums, joined a choir and lead almost a monastic existance. On occassion I would join him at the Art Institute and was always so impressed with his depth of knowledge on art through the ages. He had tried his hand at art in his youth until he found out to his consternation that he was color blind.
Rob, long retired had remained in California after his wife died and lived near his kids.
Both of these men were such gentlemen, intelligent and knowledgable, able and talented, the kind of men you would seek out to ask directions if lost. In a crowd theirs was the safe face that would invite questions. In their old age these were not the sort of men who themselves would easily ask directions.
A couple of nights prior to Rob's arrival my sister and her husband were at a Cub's game and since it was near Patrick's apartment, they stopped by to check on him. Sally was shocked at the monastic quality of Pat's life: the apartment resembled an almost bare cell, with few pieces of furniture, only a couple of books, absolutely no frivolities. Because Sal and Dirk knew that Rob would be there in a couple of days she asked, "Pat, where is Rob going to sleep?" "Over there on the cot." said Pat. "What cot?" said Sal. He motioned to a closet and Sal opened to see a chaise lounge [lawn furniture]. "Pat you don't mean this?" "Yes".
Pat then announced that he wanted to get ready for bed but wouldn't with Sally in the apartment, so she had to go out in the hall. [Sally said, "this wasn't in the finest of neighborhoods, and I felt sure that I'd be assaulted by drug dealers."] Pat was never known for his speediness but Sal said, "I kept thinking, what are they doing in there?" Dirk later reported that, "first we had to find his pajamas, then with glacial speed, Pat would pull one arm out of his shirt and then he'd stare; and this repeated itself with the the pajamas." Sal kept checking, "Are you ready?" "Not yet"...ten more minutes, "Yet?" "No not yet." One half hour to change into pajamas. And there was Sal whistling Dixie with the drug lords. They finally bedded him down and vowed to return to check on him in a day or two.
For the event, Rob insisted on flying alone to Chicago from California. He landed at O'Hare two days prior to the celebration so he could spend some time with Pat. Some fool at the rental car agency, without hesitation or questioning, gave Rob a car though he must have noticed that Rob was disoriented. [In fairness, it might have been that Rob was putting on a good show.] For the next several hours [!] Rob drove in circles in the parking garage unable to find the exit. [Clue #1 only pieced together much later.] "O,my goodness, here comes that same car around again..." is what I imagine the parking attendant thought when he finallly showed Rob the exit.
Undeterred by the endless parking lot Rob managed, we now believe by prestidigitation, to drive into and around Chicago unscathed [miracle #1]. In his attempt to find his brother Pat, he stopped at a fire station to ask directions. The firemen who were not as thick as the rental agent or the parking attendant brought Rob immediately to the Police station. The Police then wisely took Rob's keys and license and called Pat to come and get his brother. Pat arrived, [miracle #2] and waited around for Rob to leave. Apparently Pat got bored and left! The Police then did two intelligent things: they called Rob's son Mike in California to rescue his Dad and then they dropped Rob off at Pat's apartment.
End of part one, see tomorrow's post for part two in which the adventure concludes.
susansmagicfeather copyright 2012 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved
