X'32', X'45', what’s a few years among friends?

Last Friday, Mrs. RWP and I were invited to lunch at Greenwood’s, a great restaurant located in an old house in Roswell, next door to a restaurant/bar/live music venue called The Swallow in the Hollow, which is just down the street from a city hall that makes the town look as though it could be the capital of a small country. I’m not kidding. Out in front of Greenwood’s, along the street, were multitudinous strawberry pots filled with blossoming flowers and odoriferous garlic plants (next one to use the words multitudinous and odoriferous in the same blogpost wins a years supply of tompoezen or Jaffa cake, take your pick). In the entrance courtyard I spotted a bust of Elvis. A small lizard ran up a brick wall, pausing halfway. We are a strange bunch in Georgia, but it simply can’t be helped. I blame it on the fact that the Yankees won The War.

An old friend and former manager, Jim R., was in town on his yearly trip back east from his retirement home along the Pacific Ocean in northern California. Another old friend and former manager, Linda S., had gathered a small group together for a small celebration.

It turned out great. Tim R. was there, who was 24 when he came to our group and is now 48, and Larry A. and his wife Diane, along with Mrs. RWP and me. A few years back, Larry was diagnosed with ankylosing spondylitis but appears to be doing well. Another friend, Pat T., wasn’t able to attend because of a long-scheduled dental appointment that simply couldn’t be put off.

Mrs. RWP and I both had shrimp and grits, a dish that makes people in other parts of the world and even other parts of our own country go “Eeeewwwww!” but is really quite tasty. Then we shared a huge slice of coconut cream pie. Don’t make a face at the combination; some of the others at the table had catfish and blackeyed-peas and blackberry pie.

I told you we were a strange bunch.

We reminisced about old times and old friends for nearly three hours at our table in the back room. We laughed and laughed. In the end, Jim R. paid for the whole shebang even though we all protested, and he said we must get together again next year.

About this post’s title, when I turned 50 I was presented at the office with a cake that was decorated to look like an open grave in a cemetery. The epitaph on the headstone said R.I.P., X'32' (50 in decimal is 32 in hexadecimal, a base-16 numbering system that computer professionals understand; 16 times 3 equals 48, plus 2 more make 50. Get it?). Now I am X'45' (I bet you can figure it out for yourself). In case you were wondering, the hexadecimal digits are
0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, A, B, C, D, E, and F.

I joined that group of what is now called IT professionals in 1980, three weeks before I turned 39 (X'27'). Some had been together in Western Electric Company (WECo for short) since the mid-sixties, and most of the group stayed intact through thick and thin, expansions and contractions, divestitures (thank you, AT&T), spinoffs (thank you, Lucent Technologies), and outsourcings (thank you, IBM Global Services) until retirement caught up with us all.

I repeat, what’s a few years among friends?

Unforgettable, that’s what.

Wednesday Wambwings

Okay, all you tewwific weaders, I admit to being a bit of a cwazy wabbit at times, but I weawy can’t help sounding wike Elmer Fudd today because Tuesday, the day I usuawy wite my wambwings, has alweady wetweated wapidwy into histowy. Uh-oh, now I’m beginning to sound a wittle wike Gilda Radner doing Baba Wawa. I cannot keep that up for more than two sentences, sorry.

Sunday afternoon I went to a Stud Party. Not what you're thinking. Our church choir holds a Stud Party whenever someone in our church is having a new home built. We take our Bibles and felt-tip pens to the framed-in-but-not-yet-sheet-rocked house and write Scripture verses on the studs that will eventually be behind walls in the house. The trick is in making it relevant; what you put and where you put it is very important. For example, Deuteronomy 28:6 seems appropriate by the front door (You will be blessed when you come in and blessed when you go out). Psalm 51:7 is better near the bathtub (Purge me with hyssop and I shall be clean: wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow). Afterward we gather in a big circle and sing songs and pray. Great fun and very spiritual at the same time. I recommend it.

On Monday, Mrs. RWP and I made a 60-mile round trip in our gas guzzler so that our favorite dental hygienist could clean our teeth. I nearly canceled the appointments at the last minute because the price of gasoline skyrocketed by about $1.00 a gallon around here this weekend in the aftermath of Hurricane Ike’s effect on oil refineries in Texas and Louisiana. I don’t know why, but this makes me think of “the butterfly effect” -- you know, a butterfly stirs up the air while crossing my backyard and eventually there is a typhoon off the coast of China. We are all interconnected in ways we don’t realize. I scrape together some gas money and take a little car trip and my dentist gets to go skiing in Colorado this winter. My new white smile reflects more brightly into the atmosphere and the temperature goes up a couple of degrees in Zanzibar. Al Gore said so, and it’s all our fault. Mine and yours. Mostly yours.

My oldest son will be 44 this Saturday. I don’t see how this is possible since I am only 38 myself. Actually, I lied. I’m not 38. But in hexadecimal, I’m 43. I will not speak or write further about hexadecimal notation unless there is a huge clamor for it from my readers and public demonstrations in every city. Send your cards, letters, and petitions to Down With Decimal, c/o General Delivery, Not Grapevine, Texas. No phone calls, please.

This is short, but as I can’t think of anything else to write about at the moment, T.T.F.N.*

*Ta Ta For Now (Tigger in Winnie the Pooh)