A brief motorcycle ride to visit an old friend

This morning when Cliff and I went for our walk, we agreed it was considerably warmer than it has been for a few days; we even worked up some perspiration beneath our jackets.

"I believe it's warm enough for a motorcycle ride," I said.

"OK then," says Cliff, who never needs much prompting to go for a ride. "Let's go!"

I put together a quick picnic lunch, put on my biker boots and leathers, and we were soon out the door.

"I thought it was warmer than this," I told him as we got on the bike.

"Maybe the sun will come back out."

By the time we'd been on the Honda for ten minutes, we knew it was not going to be a comfortable ride. However, it's only a twenty-minute trip to the nursing home where a longtime friend of mine resides, so we decided to tough it out and go there.

This picture was taken last year, but I doubt either Dona or I have changed much. We were on the motorcycle that time, too.

This lady and I shared a fondness for gardening and Jersey cows, which is really what brought us together back in the seventies. She's immensely talented, and I have reminders of her all around me:

This picture she painted and gave me, which is in our guest bedroom.

A set of Tractor Christmas-tree ornaments made of wood. When I'm decorating a Christmas tree, many of the ornaments trigger happy memories of one person or another.

I have some Holstein cow ornaments which were sold by Avon. Dona was an Avon representative at one time.


Most prized of all, a quilt she made and gave me long ago. It's faded now, and showing wear, because I've always used it and enjoyed it. I've retired it for life now, simply because I don't know how much more use it can stand. She only has the use of one hand now, so she can't use many of her talents.

I recently found a wonderful poem I had totally forgotten about that she once wrote for me, expressing her appreciation for my friendship.

Dona had a stroke when she was my age, some ten years ago; she's been in the nursing home over a year now. It's sad to see her there, but she seems to have a great attitude. We had a nice visit, and I do hope we won't wait so long to see her again.

Dona told me she sings at every opportunity, which is funny because she's never been much of a singer. "I don't know if people like it or not, but I sing," she told us. "I've been thinking of a song I've been wanting someone to play:

And she began singing: "Sleigh bells ring, are you listening...."

So I chimed in to sing "Winter Wonderland" along with her. To my surprise, two gentleman behind us joined in, and then a couple of ladies across the room.

It was rather a magic moment, to look around and see the old folks smiling and singing along.

Cliff and I abandoned the idea of a picnic, and came right back home to the warmth of the house. At least we can say we sneaked in a little ride before the rain and snow that's forecast.

faces and voices from the past

When I met Cliff in 1965, he worked at a metal-plating place. A lot of the guys he ran around with back then were co-workers from his job. When we got married, some of them were getting married around the same time, and on weekends we'd all get together. Our babies would play happily while some of us tuned up our guitars. We'd have jam sessions and out-of-tune sing-alongs until the wee hours of the morning.

As we grew older, interests changed. Boyde and LaDona retired a few years back, bought an RV, sold their home and hit the road, spending winters in Florida. Don D. divorced, took custody of his daughters, and sired another couple of daughters later on that he took in and raised at the same time we were welcoming our first grandchild.

I have LaDonna's email addy, and she'd sometimes update me on their whereabouts. They stopped by to see us perhaps a year ago when they were in the area, driving a little hybrid car. I hadn't received any email from her for ages, until yesterday.


Boyde has cancer in his throat-neck-ear area and is taking chemo (that's them in the picture, a couple years back). What a shock to me and Cliff; we're still not used to the fact that, once you're past sixty, you and your friends all start falling apart in one way or another.

So last night, Cliff was at work as usual. Grandson was attending a Royals game. I was at the computer in my nightgown trying to get in a last-minute bid in on a Dyson vacuum on Ebay, while waiting for "The Closer" to come on TV, when the doorbell rang. Huh? Nobody comes around here that late, during the week!


It was Don D., checking in after a four-year absence.

"Good grief, I simply have to buy some sort of robe or cover-up," I thought to myself as I recognized him and invited him in. We visited until 8 P.M., Cliff's lunch break at work, and I dialed Cliff up and put Don on the phone. While they chatted, I discreetly slipped into the bedroom and put some clothes on. They discussed their respective heart surgeries.

Don has had several heart attacks, and had stints put in; he recently found out he's diabetic. He's taking twelve different prescription meds, and is on disabled social security.

Isn't it strange that we heard from two of Cliff's old runaround buddies in the same day?

My mom always said things happen in threes; will I hear one more voice from the past?