I think it was Samuel Johnson who said that a blog post that depends on a holiday angle is the last refuge of a scoundrel. I was determined not to write one last week, though I posted on the eve of Thanksgiving. The holiday passed uneventfully, and I am sure 3:17 readers everywhere let out a collective breath.
The next day, though, my friend Curtis had a heart attack. The kind where the air feels so agonizingly cold when you inhale that you can barely draw a breath, where, when your wife Cheryl gets you to the emergency room, everyone’s extremely polite but they’re cutting away your clothes with a scissors. The kind where you’re just 58.
But he’s okay. Curtis is okay. And back home. My wife Ellie and I went over last night and there was Curtis—a little winded, maybe, with a stent in an artery, but okay. In the future we will go hear more musicians and travel with our buddies Ras and Skelly to more NCAA Tournament games, and have more arguments over politics and more laughs over dinner with our families. My friend Curtis will continue to bring joy to Cheryl; he’ll take additional grandchildren to Disney World; he’ll continue indulging the dog and the cat and seeing every movie that comes out and pouring me another shot of Woodford Reserve bourbon because—well, he just will.
We’re all still here. So, without apologies, this is my Thanksgiving post.
The snapshot is of Curtis on a night we got to eat dinner with the great Don Dixon and his band at Jammin’ Java in Vienna, Virginia. Next to him, looking pensive, is the wonderful guitarist Jamie Hoover.
Ted the Cat (1994-present) is a domestic shorthair blogger and vers libre poet. He also enjoys sleeping, eating, and lurking. Ted the Cat co-habits with Kaze,
also a blogger at 317am.net.
