Things sure are different

—The other night, Wednesday, August 28th, Yr Fthfl Srvnt attended a “celebration-of-life” for one who once worked for the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper.
He was “Maintenance,” so I hardly knew him.
What was supposed to be a somber occasion turned into a chance for Messenger retirees, or ex-Messenger, to get together. To relive the hoary days of the BEST job I ever had, 1996-2005.
The Messenger changed owners soon after I retired. I started as an unpaid intern after my stroke, and they hired me as I recovered.
I drove transit bus before the Mighty Mezz, and my stroke rehab wanted to get my job back driving bus.
I refused.
“But you’ll make a lot more driving bus,” they said.
“But it wouldn’t be fun!” I told them.
Those were glory-days at the Mighty Mezz. We all were rather whacko cranking that newspaper.
A pretty young girl attended this shindig. She wasn’t Messenger. She was relation to the maintenance-man. Not exactly gorgeous, but stately and statuesque, the prettiest girl there. I woulda been scared of her 10 years ago.
I was sitting at a table eating, and she came over and sat across from me. 10 years ago I woulda left the table.
But things are different since my wife died. (That was over seven years ago.)
We struck up a conversation: “I don’t know you,” I said.
She smiled a smile that would brighten the room.
I’m no longer terrified — and she was looking right at me.
Direct eye-contact, me with her. The kind of thing she’s been able to do all her life, and I’m just getting the hang of at age-75.
“You talkin’ a-me?” reprising Robert De Niro in Taxi-Driver.
Things sure have changed since my wife died.
A gigantic flip-flop occurred. As you all know I’m a graduate of the Hilda Q. Walton School of Gender Relations. Hilda was my Sunday-School Superintendent neighbor. Together with my hyper-religious parents she convinced me all men, including me at age-five, were SCUM.
“NO PRETTY GIRL WILL TALK TO YOU!”
Just the other day, walking my dog in nearby Boughton Park, I ran into a lady I’ve seen before. (I blogged that; click the “blog” link readers.)
We stopped on the path and talked a long time. Enough for me to think she might be looking for an out.
“I see gray hairs,” I commented.
That’s a flirt, readers. It meant I noticed her hair, and declared it pretty in an ungoogly way.
She loved it; I’d got the endorphins flowing, and she wouldn’t leave.
10 years ago I coulda never flirted. And 10 years ago I would have avoided that pretty girl at our “celebration-of-life.”
Things sure have changed since my wife died. And I think she’d approve: “At long last he’s beginning to realize he’s not scum.”
I garner many lady-friends just being myself = make ‘em laugh = make the endorphins flow.
That girl told me how women love laughing.
“My dog is waiting,” I said, as I started to leave.
I started out, but saw pretty-girl again on my way out.
I tapped her arm, and told her “it was pleasant meeting you.” (FLIRT ALERT!) (Gasp!) In other words, I made a point of saying goodbye.
She pretty much said the same, smiling broadly while looking directly at me. She said something that indicated her remembering our talking.
I cried driving home afterward; 10 years ago I never coulda done that.
Hilda and my parents spin in their graves! 14,000 rpm; enough to power FL south of Orlando.

• For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS) in Rochester, NY, a public employer, the transit-bus operator in Rochester and environs. My heart-defect caused stroke October 26th, 1993 ended that. I retired on medical-disability, and that defect was repaired.
• The “Mighty Mezz” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, where I worked after my stroke.
• A recent crotch-rocket motorcycle might be capable of 14,000 rpm. A Detroit V8 will start tearing itself apart at 8,000 (if it gets there).