On the Heart
This week I learned a close friend from the past -- other than emails he and I haven't seen each other in about 7 years -- suffered a heart attack and is in hospital. His wife got him, also named Steven, to hospital before he "had" the attack but he had to be "paddled" (shocked) a few times, which is the scariest description ever. He's apparently doing not bad and is reported to be grumpy, which for him is a sign of normalcy.
This week I also attended a friend's 50th birthday party. We're not close the birthday boy and I, but he's one of those people who is holds a place on the list of the nicest, finest, most decent folks on the planet--the sort of person you feel "safe" around, if that makes sense. It was a surprise party and he, Frank, was first surprised by out-of-country friends in attendance. Then 10 minutes later, he was surprised by his mother and one sister, then a few minutes later by two other sisters all thrown at him in waves. As he got over one profoundly emotional surprise the next would appear :) He finally yelled about there being more in hiding and charged up the stairs where he ran into the final two relatives -- all from down east, by the way. All, in all, very lovely. The sheer love and fun, it was just damn nice. He cried and he cried with happiness and surprise. Warm.
Steven, I used to live with, along with several other people in a three bedroom townhouse apartment in Brandon, Manitoba. We worked at the same radio station (where he is now programmer) and we drank. A lot. (A lot of drinking I mean, not working.) I'm likely alive because of him given his defense in the face of my sarcastic, drunken lip-ee-ness in many drinking establishments (that many who regularly read this blog would not dare to enter). Steven is a big man. So, while truly a pussycat, his 6'5" or so height, his leaning to the ugly and full-on mean countenance -- not to mention the rawhide, frilled jacket and to-the-knees mukluks he wore in winter -- kept those who might wish to, in Daffy's words, wipe my beak clean off my face, from doing so. I had a certain look I'd adopt which would send the message, "I'm with this big, mean looking guy and he'll stick up for me. nah, nah nah, nah!" Steven was always quick to point out that he would be the first to flee such aggression, but not to the potential aggressors, of course. And, as others liked to point out, in those days I looked like a deranged hillbilly and the fear of a concealed, sharpened screwdriver up my sleeve also helped to keep my mouth flapping without any fists in it.
Dang, the drinking stories now popping into my head... but I digress.
The convergence of milestones (birthday and heart attack) for two people in my age bracket just got me thinking is all.
Happy Birthday Frank!
Steven, get well -- you are way too fucking ugly to die! I'll have a "poundmaker" or two for you this week :)
This week I also attended a friend's 50th birthday party. We're not close the birthday boy and I, but he's one of those people who is holds a place on the list of the nicest, finest, most decent folks on the planet--the sort of person you feel "safe" around, if that makes sense. It was a surprise party and he, Frank, was first surprised by out-of-country friends in attendance. Then 10 minutes later, he was surprised by his mother and one sister, then a few minutes later by two other sisters all thrown at him in waves. As he got over one profoundly emotional surprise the next would appear :) He finally yelled about there being more in hiding and charged up the stairs where he ran into the final two relatives -- all from down east, by the way. All, in all, very lovely. The sheer love and fun, it was just damn nice. He cried and he cried with happiness and surprise. Warm.
Steven, I used to live with, along with several other people in a three bedroom townhouse apartment in Brandon, Manitoba. We worked at the same radio station (where he is now programmer) and we drank. A lot. (A lot of drinking I mean, not working.) I'm likely alive because of him given his defense in the face of my sarcastic, drunken lip-ee-ness in many drinking establishments (that many who regularly read this blog would not dare to enter). Steven is a big man. So, while truly a pussycat, his 6'5" or so height, his leaning to the ugly and full-on mean countenance -- not to mention the rawhide, frilled jacket and to-the-knees mukluks he wore in winter -- kept those who might wish to, in Daffy's words, wipe my beak clean off my face, from doing so. I had a certain look I'd adopt which would send the message, "I'm with this big, mean looking guy and he'll stick up for me. nah, nah nah, nah!" Steven was always quick to point out that he would be the first to flee such aggression, but not to the potential aggressors, of course. And, as others liked to point out, in those days I looked like a deranged hillbilly and the fear of a concealed, sharpened screwdriver up my sleeve also helped to keep my mouth flapping without any fists in it.
Dang, the drinking stories now popping into my head... but I digress.
The convergence of milestones (birthday and heart attack) for two people in my age bracket just got me thinking is all.
Happy Birthday Frank!
Steven, get well -- you are way too fucking ugly to die! I'll have a "poundmaker" or two for you this week :)
posted by Heipel at
10:09 PM
5 Comments:
I know exactly what you mean when you say "safe". I was fortunate to have two people like that in my life when I needed it. One, a seventy-five year old priest, and the other a four year old boy. I just felt so at peace when in their presence.
I'm picturing the dueling banjo scene in Deliverance, when you describe yourself.
I hope your friend will be alright.
What a beautiful get well sentiment, brings a tear to the eye. It made me think of the line I see so often in obits "Left us way to early", only now I'll always see it as "left us way too ugly." Thank you for that. I'm sure your wishes will expedite his recovery. :)
My goodness Steven, it dawned on me that your big birthday is not too far down the road...! How many bodies do you have to drain these days to look so young?
Mike, bite me.
Hey! That was a compliment, (of sorts, you know) the reference to your unnatural ability to look waaaaay younger than you are. I mean, you bought a shirt from Gap Kids for crissakes, and not only did it fit (eat a sandwich, would ya?), but the more disturbing thing was that it didn't look... wrong. I say own up to it if you're un-dead, and whatever it is you're doing, keep doing it.
Mike, that was an invitation (of sorts, you know?) :)
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