Shepherd's Pie

18 Shepherd's Pie second edit 3/10 4:15 AM

Sitting in my little apartment, looking out the window, can be nice. Believe it or not. It is quiet here. I can't hear the traffic on Middletown Road at all, even though I can see it. It's maybe a hundred yards away. A good 9 iron shot for me.

I enjoyed playing golf when I used to be able to play. As a young guy taking up golf, once I realized I wasn't the next Arnold Palmer, I could just have fun and enjoy the game. Games should be like that. Fun. We played a lot of games in my youth. Besides baseball, in the Fall we'd play football. Touch football. No one had equipment for tackle. A few had helmets. Oh, lack of equipment didn't stop us from trying to play tackle sometimes just like we'd watch on TV.

Back in the days before color TV, when TVs were black and white, one team had to wear light color jerseys and the other dark. That way, we could tell one team from another. But I remember watching Green Bay play one afternoon at home. Their stadium was outdoors, like all stadiums were. They didn't have sissies for players who needed domed stadiums back in the old days. Those guys were tough. I remember it started snowing real hard at Green Bay. Workers were sent out frequently to shovel off the yard markers so the line judges could see them. The ground had not yet frozen, and in no time the field was a muddy mess. Soon, on black and white TV, everyone playing was black from head to toe. I couldn't tell Green Bay players from the other team until substitutes were sent in. They stood right out, having on a clean uniform. But soon they looked like everyone else.

And then along came domed stadiums, taking all the fun out of it. Football was sissified.

Let's see... what other games did we play? We shot hoops. And besides playing teams, we'd play horse, or around the world, or... I forget the others. Many times my dad would play. If he did, the older Gooder brothers would play too. They were older than us and much better, so if they played, we'd just watch. I think they went on to play college basketball. I should google that.

One neighborhood kid that could play against the big kids was Pete Chemilievsky. He was our size and our age, but Pistol Pete had something we didn't. A hook shot. With his hook, he was tough to block even for my dad and the Gooders. And he was deadly with it. I wonder why Pete never played high school basketball? He was good enough. But all of the high schoolers had graduated from set shots to jump shots to shoot over their opponents, which was fun to watch too. But nothing like Pete's hook. I wonder what happened to Pete?

Let's see, what else did we play? When it rained and we were stuck indoors, we sometimes played cards. War was fun. Old Maid was kind of corny. It seemed like a girl's game, but we tried it. Monopoly we attempted, but it took too long and we lost interest pretty quick. Battleship. We had that. When we were real young we had Chutes and Ladders. I had Lincoln Logs and Bob Van had American Bricks. I don't know, I'm forgetting now. Maybe I'll think of more later.

Kids today play those dumb video games, all full of violence and lawbreakers, stealing cars and whatnot. I'll bet they don't know how to shoot horse in hoops.

Heck. I'm wasting the day. It's a bit chilly today. Maybe I won't go to Swayze Acres. Maybe I'll walk into the village for lunch. That's exactly what I'll do. It's only a half a mile, but it takes me fifteen or twenty minutes at my speed. What time is it? Let me check the clock on the wall. A quarter to twelve. And that's another thing kids today probably can't do. Read a clock. Everything has to be digital with kids today. I remember the kid in my computer store asked me one time what time it was. I answered a quarter past one. He looked at me funny. I had to repeat it as 1:15. He didn't know what a quarter or half or three quarter hour meant. They really should teach that in school. How to tell time.

I was muttering to myself as I put on my shoes, grabbed my coat and cap and my cane, and walked out into the hall.

“Good morning Mr. Gibson.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Sciocetti,” I answered. As usual, that was quick.

“Going for a walk, are we?” she asked.

“We are. I think I'll go into the village for lunch,” I answered and I hurried out the door.

“Hello Mr. Gibson.”

“Hi Richie. I would love to know how you do that.”

“Hop it and I'll give you a ride,” he said out the open window of his jelly bean car.

“Richie, thank you. I truly appreciate it. But I've been writing all day and I really need to stretch my legs a little.”

“Gotcha. OK Mr. Gibson, but you take care. The traffic is horrible.”

“I will, thank you,” I answered as I walked up the sidewalk from the senior apartments at Van Schoonhoven up to Middletown Road. It was a bright, sunny day but the temperature was low and the breeze made it chilly. I zipped my coat up tight and pulled my cap down tighter.

Only one side of the bridge over the railroad tracks had a sidewalk, so I stayed on that side. I usually crossed Sixth Street somewhere around the convent while looking for a break in traffic. I got one and crossed the street. A car came speeding down the hill. I didn't even look. I could hear him coming. Go ahead, I dare you. I heard him brake and slow down, and then speed up and pass when I was halfway across. Damn kids. Rush rush rush.

I got to my sitting spot on O'Connor's stone wall and sat myself down. I stood my cane in front of me and set both hands on top of it. The breeze died down mostly so I unzipped my coat a little. I looked to my right and I recognized Richie's car as he slowed down and stopped.

“Are you OK Mr. Gibson!” he hollered.

“Fine!” I yelled back.

Richie rolled up his window and drove towards the village. There seemed to be more traffic that usual. Horrible, I thought as I smiled to myself. But this is nothing compared to the short time I lived in Stamford, Connecticut. Now THAT was some horrible traffic. I hated it at first, but like all things, you soon get used to it. So what Waterfordians were used to was their normal traffic, and this, to them, seems horrible. In Stamford there is no way that I could cross a street. I don't know how old men do it there. Maybe they don't. Maybe they've all been run down by those damn kids.

After a spell, I stood up. Whoa. A little dizzy there. I sat back down. I tried it again a minute later and it was OK. I found my feet and started shuffling down Sixth Street. The school was closed. It must be a weekend. Good for those kids. I loved weekends. Now that I'm retired, my entire week is a weekend. I have to set reminders in my Outlook Calendar so I don't miss doctor's appointments.

I crossed Division Street. I didn't look, I just crossed. One car approached from behind and slowed to a stop. I glanced over. It was a woman in a red car. As I looked at her, she smiled and waved. I smiled back, but under my breath I thought you're darnn right you're gonna wait. I'm in a crosswalk. I got across and she slowly passed behind me.

Now what was all that, Gibson? You're turning into a grumpy old fart. See, she seemed like a nice lady. She did what she was supposed to do and waited for you. Yeah, but I'll bet she was mad behind that smile. You don't know that. I think she was nice. Probably not. Was too. Was not. Was too. Was not.

STOP! Listen to you, arguing with yourself. Do you know how annoying that can be? Silence. Good.

I rounded the corner by St. Mary's. I looked down the hill. The side of the street across from Don & Paul's looked packed. Too bad some young nimrod turned all the parking places in front into a turning lane. Kids today don't understand business and how important parking is. I'll bet the diner is packed too. It's a great place. Even when they get busy, the service is still top notch and the food is as well. If you can get a seat. Being a weekend, I'll bet all those darn kids are in there.

I shuffled on down past the sign shop and such and I saw the hanging sign for McGreivey's. There was also a new Chinese place across from town hall, the Sun Rise Restaurant. I like Chinese food a lot. Not today. Some other time. I want something American. You can't beat good old American food.

Just as I approached the entrance to McGreivey's, I heard the unmistakable noise of a skateboard coming behind me. I stopped. Sure enough, first a kid on a bicycle swerved to my left and used McGreivey's handicapped ramp as a bicycle ramp. He was followed closely by a nitwit on a skateboard who used it as a skateboard ramp. They both made their jumps and flew across Fourth Street.

“Hey you kids! Get off the sidewalk!” I yelled. But they were out of earshot. I can't yell like I used to. That kid on the bicycle is lucky I didn't stick my cane in his spokes. What if someone had walked out of McGreivey's? They could have been hit. And hurt. Businesses usually have to have their doors open out in case of fire, but McGreivey's was so old that the doors opened in. Good thing.

I looked behind me. Nope, no one else coming. I walked up McGreivey's handicapped ramp. I avoid stairs. I got to the door and opened it. I walked in and was taking off my coat and hat.

“Hello Mr. Gibson!” waved Lindsay.

“Hi Lindsay. But look, Mr. Gibson is my father. Call me Dave.”

“OK Mr. Dave, what will you have?”

I like Lindsay. Oh, I like Terry and Gwen too, but Lindsay is prettier than Terry.

“What's that beer I had last time?” I asked.

“ Czech'rd Past, by Chatham Brewing?” she asked.

“That's it. Give me that.”

I honestly don't remember if that was what I had before or not. I didn't want to seem forgetful. But you are forgetful. Don't start with me. I've had it with you guys. Just shut up and let me enjoy my beer. Fine. Fine. Fine.

Lindsay came over with a pint of... of... that beer and set it in front of me on a coaster. She shot me a smile. Young girls always smile at me now that I'm a sweet old man.

“Here ya go,” said Lindsay brightly.

“Where is everybody?” I asked as I waved my hand around.

“Oh, they'll be along. Usually late in the afternoon the place will fill up.”

“OK. Can I see a menu please?”

“You sure can. Eating today?” asked Lindsay. “That's unusual.”

“Yep. I'm in the mood for some good old American food and besides, I don't feel like cooking hamburgers again tonight,” I answered.

Lindsay handed me the menu and I browsed it while she waited on a few other customers. Everything looks good. Why do restaurants today have so many choices? How am I going to decide? What don't you do what you always do. What's that? Don't pick anything until you're asked for your order and then you pick something on the spot. Hey it works for me. Now be quiet.

I browsed down the menu. Picking something for lunch is like being a kid and picking candy at Michon's. It's a big decision. The biggest one I'll make all day.

“Are you ready?” asked Lindsay as she came over with her order pad and pen.

“Yep. I'll have the Shepherd's Pie,” I said, quite pleased with my selection.

“You've got it.”

While waiting, I was enjoying my beer and the decorations. McGreivey's was all decked out for St. Patty's Day. Green string lights, shamrocks, leprechauns everywhere. Terry had told me that they're having a party there the Saturday before, but I'm not much for parties. I have a hard enough time hearing as it is. Toss in some background noise and I'm done. But if you like that kind of thing, I suppose it would be a good time. Probably corned beef and cabbage. I think that's a law. For Irish-type pubs.

McGreivey's has a nice crowd. Older, I noticed. The youngest person I saw was sitting with an older woman, probably her mom. She looked to be maybe... 25? 30? Is it really important? Well no, but I was just wondering how old she was. Maybe she's wondering how old you are? Do you think so... Shut up.

I looked around some more. Nothing else to do until my lunch got here. Might as well absorb the ambiance.

And then my food got here. Good. I'm hungry.

“Here you go, Mr. Gibson,” said Lindsay.

“Dave,” I corrected.

“Right. Dave.”

She set down a paper place mat and put the bowl of Shepherd's Pie in front of me. She set utensils wrapped up in a white paper napkin next to the plate.

“Can I get you anything else Dave?” asked Lindsay.

“No, thank you. I'm good.”

“Be careful. It's hot,” she warned.

“I will, thanks.”

Sheesh. Be careful of traffic. Be careful it's hot. I didn't get to be seventy years old for nothing. Oh sure, I've stepped out into traffic a few times when I shouldn't, and I've burned my mouth more than once. But that's how you learn. By the stupid things you do. Good judgment comes from experience. Experience comes from bad judgment.

I finished the Shepherd's Pie in short order and ordered another beer to wash it down. This beer is pretty good. What's it called? Begins with a C. Critical Mass? Something like that. Anyway, it's good. I'm glad Lindsay can remember the name of it because I can't.

I just sat. Just like I do at home, looking out the window. Only I'm sitting here in a different place, looking out a different window. Variety is the spice of life, they say. Who in the hell is they? You know, they. No I don't know. For the last time, shut up. I'm relaxing here. Fine. Fine.

I later finished my beer and placed my coaster on top of my empty beer glass. I learned that tending bar in Florida. When you don't want a refill, cover your glass. A universal sign. I also quickly learned the most common phrase bartenders hear. Just one more.

“All done?” asked Lindsay.

“Yes ma'am,” I answered.

Even though she looked to be extremely busy and swamped with customers now, she returned quickly with my check. I already had my debit card sitting on the bar when she returned. She scooped it up and very quickly returned with my debit card and copies of the tab. I never look to see which ones are merchant copies and which are for the customer. And sometimes there's a third one. I have no idea what that's for. I squinted for the total, took 20% and rounded it up to a whole dollar and added it for a tip. I arose, pulled my cap out of my sleeve, put on my jacket and was out the door.

I didn't look when I stepped out the door. I should have but I didn't. Thankfully there were no kids coming down the sidewalk on bicycles or skateboards. Darn kids. Always in a hurry.

I heard a car pull up and stop at the curb. I knew who it was.

“Hey, Mr. Gibson!”

“Hi Richie. Yes, a ride would be great.”

I like to walk, but I didn't go to the men's room before I left. I forgot. You'd forget your head if it wasn't attached. Shut up. Fine.

I slid in Richies little Hyundai or Honda or whatever it was. I got my cane in and shut the door. Checkered Past. That's it.

“How was your lunch?” asked Richie.

“It was good. It really hit the spot,” I said. “There's nothing like good ol' American food if you ask me.”

“What did you have?” asked Richie.

“Shepherd's Pie.”

Richie just smiled as he pulled away from the curb.