Visits with an old friend used to revive only memories of good times. Now we discuss those who’ve died and those reluctantly poised at the door. How did all my loved ones get to be old?
Across the table we’re transported to the ages we were upon first meeting. Not a day has passed since laughter of a decades old conversation rolls into current table talk. The waiter shows up too often, interrupting tales more important than food.
Yet old drinking habits are tempered and bedtime beckons far sooner than dawn’s early light.
For those who’ve passed, we raise a glass. Behind silent sips we count our blessings: one for each day lived, and one for each which remains; one for each friend lost, and one for each yet to be met.
At the close we vow to make our next visit soon.
But soon enough?