Saturday, July 31, 2004
Happy Saturday!
I know I've written about him before, but here goes anyway...
For the last gazillion years, I get a single red rose every Saturday. When the flower shop was downtown, Harry would swing by, pick one out, and deliver it to me while I was working at George's. Since they've moved, he has a single red rose delivered to me at George's every Saturday. Harry is one of the kindest men I've ever had the pleasure to meet. He's in his late 60s, though to look at him, you would think he was pushing 80+. Life has not been kind to him. Yet he remains optimistic and unaffected by most of the crap that has been dealt him.
Last summer, Harry didn't show up for about three days. I, of course, didn't know that, but when he didn't come in one Saturday, I started asking around. I called his house. No answer. Finally, I called the woman who delivered my rose and asked her if she could drive over to his house and check up on him.
She called about an hour later to say that Harry was in the hospital. He had fallen and broken a hip. I was so relieved it wasn't something worse, but a broken hip in an elderly person is not the greatest thing in the world. When I got off work, I ran to the hospital, found out his room number and rushed up to see if he was ok. Poor guy. There he was lying in this bed, reading his newspaper with the magnifying glass with a built in light that I had gotten him the prior Christmas, and trying so hard not to feel the pain.
He was there for almost two weeks because they also found he had colon cancer. Every day after work, I would stop by, bring him books from the library, pictures of Gus (who has gotten his fair amount of treats from Uncle Harry), and anything else I could think of to make him smile.
Well, he's 'fine' now, but he rides a little scooter that we call Mustang Sally. When he does walk, it's slowly, with great pain, and with the use of a cane. On September 15th, he's taking me to a Cubs game as he does every year for my birthday (though we did not, of course, make it last year). I'm happy to be going this year with him because I know it makes him remember his youth, and there's nothing like sitting in Wrigley Field with a giant cup of Old Style and a Chicago dog.
Anyway, I don't know what made me think of Harry this morning, but I wanted to tell you about him. He's a beautiful man with a wonderful heart and a sharp mind. And I love him. For whatever faults I have, he sees through them and every Saturday shows me how much he cares for me. I don't ever want to take something that precious for granted.
And, like he says to me every Saturday he comes into the bar: Happy Saturday!
Who dat snappin' back? |
For the last gazillion years, I get a single red rose every Saturday. When the flower shop was downtown, Harry would swing by, pick one out, and deliver it to me while I was working at George's. Since they've moved, he has a single red rose delivered to me at George's every Saturday. Harry is one of the kindest men I've ever had the pleasure to meet. He's in his late 60s, though to look at him, you would think he was pushing 80+. Life has not been kind to him. Yet he remains optimistic and unaffected by most of the crap that has been dealt him.
Last summer, Harry didn't show up for about three days. I, of course, didn't know that, but when he didn't come in one Saturday, I started asking around. I called his house. No answer. Finally, I called the woman who delivered my rose and asked her if she could drive over to his house and check up on him.
She called about an hour later to say that Harry was in the hospital. He had fallen and broken a hip. I was so relieved it wasn't something worse, but a broken hip in an elderly person is not the greatest thing in the world. When I got off work, I ran to the hospital, found out his room number and rushed up to see if he was ok. Poor guy. There he was lying in this bed, reading his newspaper with the magnifying glass with a built in light that I had gotten him the prior Christmas, and trying so hard not to feel the pain.
He was there for almost two weeks because they also found he had colon cancer. Every day after work, I would stop by, bring him books from the library, pictures of Gus (who has gotten his fair amount of treats from Uncle Harry), and anything else I could think of to make him smile.
Well, he's 'fine' now, but he rides a little scooter that we call Mustang Sally. When he does walk, it's slowly, with great pain, and with the use of a cane. On September 15th, he's taking me to a Cubs game as he does every year for my birthday (though we did not, of course, make it last year). I'm happy to be going this year with him because I know it makes him remember his youth, and there's nothing like sitting in Wrigley Field with a giant cup of Old Style and a Chicago dog.
Anyway, I don't know what made me think of Harry this morning, but I wanted to tell you about him. He's a beautiful man with a wonderful heart and a sharp mind. And I love him. For whatever faults I have, he sees through them and every Saturday shows me how much he cares for me. I don't ever want to take something that precious for granted.
And, like he says to me every Saturday he comes into the bar: Happy Saturday!
