LOST IN THE UNDERGROWTH

One of the older fellows celebrated the fiftieth anniversary of the first date with his wife by taking flowers and icecream to the assisted care facility where she now lives. She can no longer quite recognize who he is, or when he was there last, and needs to be supervised lest she wander off into the woods, but she was never-the-less very happy to see him.
He still remembers who she is and visits her every day.

Fifty years. That's a long time. When he stops by where I work we are happy to see him too.

Because I think it's a sign of basic human respect for one's fellow, I try to remember who everyone I see more than once or twice is. Learned that while working for Indians, to whom every Mexican in the kitchen was "hey amigo", almost like it was a caste designation.

[Of course I should mention that many of them were simply J.Singh. Jabbargan Singh. Jagbir Singh. Jagdish Sing. Jagman Singh. Jagtar Sing. Jit Singh. Jeevan Singh. Jodh Sing. Joginder Singh. Joshvir Sing. Jot Singh. ..... ]


Never having met his wife, I have no idea who she is. But judging by the man, she is probably a wonderful woman, still, and would be nice to meet.

Whereupon I would remember her name.

There is one chap whose surname I remembered because it translates as "little hammer".
I'm rather embarassed because his first name totally escapes me, and I haven't taken the time to look it up in the system.

I really should. I know what subject he's studying, and even the cigars that he thinks are the bees knees and cat's whiskers. And I've learned to ignore his grouchy appearance, as that's just the way his eyebrows twist. But his primary appellation has fled me.


Because several years ago I worked temp jobs I still encounter people who remember me while wandering in downtown San Francisco, whose names and peculiarities are totally lost. Often they are delighted to see me. As I am. But I keep the conversations short because otherwise I might hurt their feelings, what with having absolutely no clue who they are.

Sadly, I remember the exact glaze of a coffee mug I broke way back when while doing an assignment at dotdotdot bank on Montgomery Street precisely and exactly. It was a modern rendition of the same effect on one of my favourite antique ricebowls (also broken years ago). Very nice. Mottled rusty autumnal reds from iron oxide glaze.



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