Thursday July 9, 2026 'Book Ends' in Real Time: SKOL!

Looking for a pen during my stay at Hilton: Garden Inn, in Des Moines/Urbandale, Iowa, on this recent 4th of July 2026 road trip with my daughter, BJ, and her family, I awaited the arrival of two old old terribly old friends who I hadn't seen in real time for over two decades: 'Jeff' from where we used to live on Des Moines' East side; and 'Kerry,' an even older friend whom I met way back in 'Middle School,' in Minnesota-speak, (or as Des Moines locals call it, 'Junior High.') and their car driver, Kerry's son Pat, who I hadn't seen in the flesh for nearly four. 

Arranging an early morning meeting around his son's busy social schedule, Kerry asked Pat to drive him; and Jeff, who they would have to pick up first, then me, for an early morning breakfast at the Cozy Cafe, in nearby Johnston. Kerry told me he estimated they'd arrive around 8:20 am to 8:30 am.

I didn't sleep very well. Truth was, I couldn't get my cellphone alarm clock to function, try as I might. I kept waking up every couple hours just to check what time it was because I didn't want to be late. And, I worried if I would recognize these old friends in 3-D, even though I talk with J & K every couple weeks and receive numerous strangely-odd selfies from Jeff on occasion. Would their voice alone cement the visuals?

 In the meantime, I needed to write something down and begin looking for the pen I had in hand just moments earlier, immediately checking the pockets of my 'utility pants' that as I've observed men about my age commonly wear with up to 5-6 front pockets per leg; and 8 or 9 pockets per pair often including 'a Loop & Hoop,' to carry presumably a long-handled tool i.e., a hammer or hatchet, if you're lucky.

A handy 'Loop & Hoop' provision.

 

No wonder I go through a painful litany with the wife on laundry day.  

"YOU DIDN'T CHECK YOUR POCKETS AGAIN!

THERE ARE PAPER TOWEL BITS ALL OVER MY CLOTHES! 

YOU DIDN'T LOOK!'

The truth is I do, diligently, but sometimes ... something just sneaks by me.

A right-sided 5-pocket version. The rear pocket being a two-in-one.

Then I dug through all three pockets of my canvas luggage bag too containing every thing from duct tape to can openers -- but no pen, even while knowing I left practically all my writing pads and extra pens in the Subaru back in Prior Lake thinking, however wrongly, a book-sized backpack would take up too much room in the Forester the kids were driving.

I discovered there was not even a ballpoint pen to be had among the "Welcome to the Hotel," paraphernalia either. It was absurd that I misplaced that stinkin' pen. ARGH! Angrily, I thrust my hand in my front pocket of my pants out of frustration -- and !!@#$%^&*()_+ there it was all the time! Good grief. 

Yes, by that time I forgot what it was I was going to write, anyway.

BJ texted me that she and her daughter were going down to the lobby for some breakfast if I wanted to join them. I'd been down there earlier for coffee, having come back to the room for another important morning ritual I hoped to get out of the way before meeting up with Pat, Jeff, and Kerry about eight-thirty -- my 100-pushups regimen I do religiously-- (if just in my mind) to keep my imagination flowing. Since I had so luckily found my pen, I figured I could forego that nonsense for I had Jeff and Kerry from which to draw inspiration shortly.

Visiting with my six-year old daughter who was busily chowing down on a healthy breakfast, I suddenly received a presumably urgent text from Jeff, written in Jeff-speak: "Done here waiting deezer." 

I whirled around to face the spacious foyer, looking anxiously for a car I had never seen before, having no idea of its color or shape, containing three individuals who I likely wouldn't recognize in the sea of 4th of July celebrants entering and leaving the sunlit hotel lobby. 

Looking at my cellphone again to check the time as well as search for clues as to what "Done here waiting deezer," could possibly mean, I saw a young bearded man stand up over the top of a car that appeared he may have driven, and energetically wave in my direction. I looked behind me, thinking he was possibly gesturing to someone else; when a quite larger white-haired individual on the car's passenger side stood up and waved an aluminum crutch at me angrily, to say, "

"HEY (expletive)! DONE HERE WAITING DEEZER!"  

(Translation: Done waiting here you old geezer)

Ah, it was Jeff of course, whom I've known since he was four years old and was cuter than a bug's ear, I heard say. It's hard to imagine now judging from what he looked like in 1991. Still, as he is wont to point out immediately, he still has all his hair ...

and Kerry and I don't.

POST SCRIPT

Starting in 'Junior High,' continuing through 'High School,' and into our later married lives, there was another older much older friend named Arthur, who rounded out our foursome. He wasn't in Des Moines last weekend as far as any one of us knew, but did respond when I queried that as did Jeff, he also probably still had the hair on his head with which he started out life possessing. He graciously sent proof of said possession, and although appearing the most serious of our bunch, he included himself in our morning of reverie outside the Cozy Cafe, albeit in the Middle Ages.

SKOL!