No Moaning at the Bar

I seldom lament my passing years. Life has been so good. Now most friends from youth are gone. No doubt some are out there, but high school sweetheart Marguerite is the only one I know about. We visit by phone occasionally. I alone remain from my decade on the denominational executive staff. Several times the flag has dipped to half-staff during my four years at Woodland Garden. One woman is my senior. She is 99.

My kids, grandkids, and swarm of great-grands, along with a bunch of friends treat me kindly, knowing I don’t fear dying. I tried it once but didn’t take. I’m not sure why I’m still around, but I’m grateful. One day the girl from 313 may plant a memorial orchid in the library, though I don’t expect to occasion that any time soon. There’ll be scant moaning at the bar when I put out to sea. What’s to moan about?

Yet this week I found myself moaning, wishing for more years. Two new books climbed atop the must-read pile in my study. So much to explore in the Creation! So much wisdom to gain from history! Leaving my books behind will hurt, but we’re not allowed to take homework to heaven.

First thing I’ll do when I get there is hunt out the library. There is one, you know. I have a great librarian to recommend when she finally joins me. Maybe she’ll put on the coffee and let me hang around after hours.

Old Grandpa Lloyd