Ken Beaton: Today is a gift

What do you call it when everything falls into place for something positive to happen to you? The planets have aligned for me; my ship came in; or I’m lucky! After reading this commentary, maybe you’ll agree with me.

In 2012 I read an article in an AARP magazine about the movie, Last Vegas. The author referred to the book, Buddy System: Understanding Male Friendships by Geoffrey Grief. He wrote about four categories of friends. “A ‘must’ friend is the first to get the call after a hole in one or a tough diagnosis. ‘Trust’ friend is well regarded and loyal, but not quite the inner circle. ‘Just’ friends are passing acquaintances, while ‘rust’ friends stand the test of time – even if they sometimes can’t stand one another.” Rust friends have the strongest bonds. “Even if they haven’t seen each other for decades, they’ll pick up again like kids.”

When I refer to someone as a rust friend, it is my best compliment. To me a rust friend can be male or female. It’s a sure bet that we’ve known each other for decades. I graduated high school 65 years ago; things were great in ’58. A rust friend can be trusted with my darkest secret and vice versa even if we’re water boarded! My advice: don’t try to have dozens of rust friends. If you have one or two rust friends, you are blessed.

Out of the blue in June 2017, I received an email from Peggy who was a voracious reader. As a preteen she had read every book in the children’s section of the Salem, Massachusetts, Public Library. We had lost touch and hadn’t communicated for 56 years. She had Googled something with the word brigade. She almost fell over when my book, THE BULLDOG BRIGADE: A Slice of Bad Decisions, Bruises, Bumps, and Stitches was an option on her monitor. She purchased my book to read about herself on page 192. Stepping outside her comfort level, she emailed me.

From negative experiences, I’m cautious about opening unexpected emails. Usually the “females from Russia” with the title, “I sent you pictures,” or “I need you to satisfy me,” emails are in my spam file, but occasionally one will sneak into my regular file. Fortunately, I was able to see enough of her email to feel comfortable opening it.

Five years earlier on Dec. 30, 2012, Casey, a rust friend, passed away because he had not given up smoking soon enough. He was my reader for three years. I had searched five years for a person trustworthy with my inner secrets, enjoys reading and would give me honest feedback.

I mentioned my latest commentary to Peggy. Loving history, she requested it. I attached my commentary in an email. Within one or two days, I received her comments with grammatical corrections. (I thought Microsoft’s Word caught all mistakes.) She called it “nitpicking.” I called it “feedback.” After five years, my prayers were answered.

After reuniting, I suggested “Since you live in the East Bay area and I live in Carson City, we should meet.” She said, “In September 2017 I’ll be the designated driver for several friends staying at NorthStar.” We made plans to meet at 2 p.m. on Sept. 14 at Incline Village’s Lone Eagle Grill’s patio. I know it sound like the 1957 movie, An Affair to Remember, with Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr agreeing to meet in six months on the top floor of the Empire State Building or Sleepless in Seattle.

Normally, I’m not a nervous person, but 56 years is 56 years. However, as the time grew closer to 1 p.m. on the 14th, numerous thoughts flashed in my head. “What if she plays Deborah Kerr’s role?” At 1 o’clock I drove south on U.S. 395 to U.S. 50 and north on State Route 28. Within feet of entering Washoe County, northbound traffic on State Route 28 stopped. One lane of traffic was closed for bike path construction. I waited for all the southbound vehicles to pass by which seemed to take forever! I was concerned this traffic delay would make me late. Never keep a good woman waiting.

At 1:50, I found a shady parking space at the Lone Eagle Grill. After a quick stop in the men’s room, I walked down the stairs and opened the door to the patio. There was a shaded table on the left with four chairs. I sat in the chair facing the patio door. A strong Lake Tahoe Zephyr was generating three-foot waves from the south breaking on the north beach. Growing up near the Atlantic Ocean, the waves reminded me of the times as a kid I spent at Massachusetts beaches.

At 1:58 each second seemed like a minute. At 2 p.m. not seeing Peggy, I took out my cell and began searching my contacts for her. Before I could press call the patio door opened, framing a smiling Peggy. Her “Artic Blond” hair was styled to compliment the shape of her face. Her top matched her blue eyes with a two-inch blue stone pendant on a silver chain. I was the recipient of a 10-second hug that spoke volumes to me. Had it really been 56 years?

My being nervous vanished with Peggy’s hug. We filled in the gaps in our lives. I don’t know what happened to the time. Suddenly, it was 4:10! It took 10 more minutes to wrap up our conversation with a 15-second hug and a commitment to stay in touch. “Peggy, you’re my reader.” For a person to become my reader is my best compliment.

Unfortunately, in 2020 Peggy’s husband had a heart attack at home and the paramedics couldn’t save him. In less than a year she tested positive for cancer. After two chemo treatments she decided that the chemo was worse than the alternative. She stopped the chemo to enjoy a quality of life.

After emailing back and forth, we decided that I would visit her in Danville, 240 miles from Carson City. At 6 a.m. I’d take 580 to Reno, I-80 West to 680 near Vallejo, then south on 680 exiting in Danville, a little before 10 a.m. We’d eat brunch at Crumbs Breakfast, Lunch & Bar having a great conversation during our meal. Then, we’d walk and talk along Railroad Avenue in Danville’s small businesses sector. At 1 p.m. we’d hug before I’d return to Carson City to beat Reno’s commuter traffic, 11-hour day driving a total of 480 miles.

Peggy never felt sorry for herself, but I sensed that her time was soon when she returned to attending church weekly. I visited her in February, April, June and Sept. 27, 2022. During our September visit, I asked her to make sure to have one of her sons call or text me when she passed. Two days later I received a text from one of her sons, “Peggy passed peacefully today, Sept. 29, 2022.” I thanked her son, but I was unable to attend her celebration of life.

I’ve been without a reader for 15 months. I’m reminded of the 1954 No. 1 hit for seven weeks, “Mr. Sandman,” sung by the Cordettes. Instead of “send me a dream,” please send me another reader. A number of years ago I read and continue to remind myself, “Today is a gift, that’s why we call it the present.”