Out Of The Old Black Bag
OUT OF THE OLD BLACK BAG
Renewal of Vows “On The Banks”
AHN Pediatrics — Pediatric Alliance Arcadia
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“Civilization is a stream with banks. The stream is sometimes filled with blood from people killing, stealing, shouting and doing things historians usually record; while on the banks, unnoticed, people build homes, make love, raise children, sing songs, write poetry and even whittle statues. The story of civilization is the story of what happens on the banks. Historians are pessimists because they ignore the banks of the river.”
— The Story of Civilization by Will and Ariel Durant
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Musical Accompaniment: “Songbird” by Fleetwood Mac (sung by Christine McVie)
The old man, who went by Ernie, was comforted that his portly bearing with thin, greying hair, sagging “Kermit the Frog” eyelids, and bulbous nose flanked by “liver spots” would not be juxtaposed with the enduring natural beauty of his slender, fair-skinned but weakened wife, Hadley, who could talk and breathe only feebly in her old age after suffering for years from the cardiac aftermath of childhood rheumatic fever. In spite of her absence, he imagined they were celebrating their recent 40th wedding anniversary at the matrimonial gala of his junior partner and her awesome husband “on the banks” of the Allegheny River. It was a momentous affair attended by most of the old man’s “office family”, many of them in the early years of their marital bliss.
Since everybody had been accustomed to seeing the three of them together, the saintly, gentle canine of the bride and groom, Gibbs, was conspicuous by his absence. We were to learn that the pet, because of his benevolence toward all beings, had been awarded a spot that day at a top-drawer vacation spa complete with a swimming pool, Jacuzzi, meal plan, and other amenities befitting a beast with the social standing of Lassie or Rin Tin Tin.
The Great Gibbs: A Master of Disguises
Although it was hot and humid, a wistful, cool, ocean-like breeze from the adjacent Allegheny River permeated the outdoor wedding tent. The old man became immersed in private sentimentality as the voice of Fleetwood Mac’s original singer, Christine McVie, launched the procession of the bridal party down the aisle with “Songbird,” one of their lesser known recordings; the group had been Ernie’s favorite since childhood, although Hadley was sometimes irritated by his ad nauseam playing of the group’s well-known signature song “You Make Loving Fun” in the presence of their young children.
“You can go your own way,” he thought with anxiety as he was confronting the winter of his life and the prospects of being retired and confined to an empty nest, perhaps alone. His mood changed when “Claire de Lune” followed — the piece of music he considered the battle cry of the lonely new mother feeding her beloved newborn in the darkness of the middle of the night. He became tearful as he wished now that he could have shared those duties equally with his beleaguered wife in the months following the births of their children. In spite of her heart disease, she had defied the medical experts and bore him 3 bonnie daughters and a strapping son, interspersed with several miscarriages.
Unfortunately, Ernie’s professional obligations had eternally been the justification for breaking the seventh commandment in regards to his family: “Thou shalt not steal!” It was time that he had stolen. His children were keen in reminding him of the recrimination from Harry Chapin’s popular song “Cat’s in the Cradle”:
And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man in the moon
“When you coming home, dad?” “I don’t know when”
But we’ll get together then
You know we’ll have a good time then!
For better or for worse, indeed!
The reception was unique. The bride had prepared a small plaque for each patron at their designated seat with a personalized message of happiness. Ernie recollected their own little backyard wedding reception after the 12 o’clock Sunday mass attended only by close family members and the lilacs in their luxurious, May-time bloom. The wild birds were singing fiercely that afternoon as it was an ideal day for any celebration.
Although the lineup of the delicacies was extravagant, Ernie paid special attention to the rolls and was ecstatic that he could take seconds from the bread basket. All his coworkers were amused by his fixation on plain old bread for lunch to avoid agita in the office with his heavy, demanding afternoon schedules. However, at this time he was contemplating the universality of bread and revisiting the evening the couple’s pet parakeet, Moses, suddenly passed away, and they prepared him for burial in the back yard under the rose bush which was visible from the family room where the highly animated, corn-yellow little rascal spent almost all of his short life admiring the antics of the free-living wild birds on the other side of the bay window. He could not restrain a tear as he reflected on the quote of a dying little boy he had shared with Hadley recently from the novel A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles:
“Papa, when they put the dirt on my grave, crumble a crust of BREAD on it so the sparrows will come, and I’ll hear that they’ve come and be glad that I’m not lying alone.”
Between the hardy overeating and the dancing to follow, the old man took a moratorium from the excitement and strolled out to the boardwalk running alongside the banks of the river; the gentle breeze heightened the impulse for reverie instilled by a remarkable pastel-hued dusk. The whimpering of the waves on the river bank set the mood for his favorite quote about the history of civilization which he realized for the first time had omitted one of the most celebrated events in life that was now taking place “on the banks”: the spiritual union of marriage, “for better or for worse, until death do us part.”
“… while on the banks, unnoticed, people build homes, make love, raise children, sing songs, write poetry and even whittle statues….”
He was awakened from his pensive slumber by the ringing of his cell phone. “Where are you? When are you coming home?” rebuked the voice on the other end of the phone. “It is 8:30 and you were supposed to be home with my takeout from Panera at 8 o’clock! Have you been dancing too much?”
“Not too much dancing. Too much remembering!” he thought. “I will leave now and be home in half-an-hour, my dear,” he lied. For he knew that he would have to thank the bride and groom, bid farewell to his “office family,” pick up the food at Panera, and drive the forty-minute route home. There would be absolutely no dancing. Only the tacit, mutually expressed renewal of vows not yet forgotten or eroded by the vagaries of time or bad luck.
But like all married couples who are inexorably linked on the banks for life, he knew that SHE very well knew that he would only be home in an hour, would not forget the food (and would include a luscious, high-fat chocolate chip cookie to help her restore her diminishing weight) and would bring home a little bit of bread to scatter on Moses’s grave the next morning. After all, for 40 years they had shared all the same memories; he hoped the same for the newlyweds as he left the banks of the Allegheny before the dancing commenced.
The stream of civilization would be laden with the blood of those dying from the pandemic and in combat with their fellow man or with themselves, but the behaviors of those of us who act out the business of our lives “on the banks” will never change until all the lights go out with the final whimper of time.
What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.
— T.S. Eliot
As he was nearing home, Ernie finally renewed their solemn vows out loud — with more insight at the end than ever before — as he remorsefully whimpered the promise from their favorite wedding song by The Tymes, “So in Love”:
When we walk down the aisle together, we will vow to be together ‘till we die.
So much love have we two, just can’t wait to say “I do”
So in love are you and I.
P.S. The named characters in this story are fictional, except for Gibbs the dog and Moses the bird.
source http://www.thepediablog.com/2021/10/28/out-of-the-old-black-bag-12/
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