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In a recent comment, Diane noted that Halo was the last friend Patti made. That, and the Olympics, got me thinking about the first friend Patti made.

His name was Billy Conway. He and Patti were best friends from age three until fourth or fifth grade, when it became uncool to have a best friend of the opposite sex – about the same time Patti began to prefer horses to humans.

Like Patti, Billy was a cute, bright, full-of-energy, youngest child. “A bit spoiled, those two,” some said. And were they a pair to deal with! There were always plans to hatch, places to go, things to explore, trouble to get into, scams to perpetrate.

One summer – the one between kindergarten and first grade, if memory serves – they saw an ad on TV for PF-Flyer sneakers. Said ad suggested that PFs made you faster than any other sneaker in the world. They looked at their own feet. One wore PFs; the other Keds. A contest was born.

They picked out the best stretch of Scott Drive. They marked the course with chalk. They sold tickets to everyone in the neighborhood. They enlisted their fathers to be the judges, one on either side of the finish line. Billy’s older brother Robert shot a cap pistol to start the race.

While it was close, Keds won. Once across the line, Patti took off her PFs, left them in the street, and marched over to her father, hands on hips. “I’ll need Keds,” she announced and strutted home in her stocking feet.

She got Keds. And she and Billy moved on to their next adventure. But everyone remembered the PF Challenge, and no kid in the neighborhood would wear anything but Keds for as long as the memory lasted. Some may be wearing them still!

FierceBaby

She was a lovely girl, that Brittany named Halo. Patti loved her. And when Patti was sickest and becoming sicker still, Halo gave comfort and companionship and great affection. She was a great nurse in her own canine way. A car hit Halo yesterday and killed her. One wishes the Rainbow Bridge thing was real, although, in this case, in reverse.

FierceBaby

On important things, Jim and Susan were almost always on the same page and when not could usually get there without contention. However, they did argue about stuff that didn’t count much. Those fights were almost always funny. In one of our phone conversations after Jim died, Susan told me tearfully that she didn’t know how she could spend the rest of her life without the funny fights. She sent me this description of one they had last winter.

It was a Saturday morning in the depths of last winter. We had a petrillion errands to run, so set out in Ranger Rick, shinydome’s beloved 1990 Ford pickup. By the time we had lurched down our avenue, the township road, and the county road ‚Äì a distance of not more than two miles ‚Äì to reach State Highway 55, I was not sure I had a filling left in my head.

“Rick’s lurching,”I said.

“It’ll be better when he warms up,”shinydome responded.

“Would that be in a few miles or Spring?”I asked, possibly a bit snottily.

No response. Disdain clear.

As we neared our first stop, the ride had definitely gotten smoother. We did our errand, quite congenially working together. It took maybe 11 minutes.

We then lurched through the parking lot, back onto the highway, and eastward a while before smoother set in again. This pattern continued through three or four stops. I held my tongue. Truly. At least about the lurching. But during one of the longer stretches between stops, I broached a related topic. Here’s how that convo went:

FB: Have you noticed that we rarely, if ever, have both Carmen and Rick on the road? Maybe we should think about replacing two older, not so great vehicles with one really good one.
SD: I’ve actually thought that myself.
FB: What kind of vehicle are you thinking about?
SD: SUV. Ford. The big one.
FB: You’ve got to be kidding. They are terrible gas guzzlers and much more vehicle than we would ever need. Besides, we’d have to get a gun rack and one of those ribbon things that says, “Support Our Troops” to put on the back
SD: You are such a bigot.
FB: So.

A few minutes of silence.

FB: And do you know how much one of those honkers costs?
SD: Thirteen, fourteen thousand.
FB: You have been living under a rock. Multiply by three and a half and you might be close.
SD: No way.

At this point, we were near the Ford dealer in Buffalo, MN. shinydome swung Rick onto the lot, parked, and in we went. He paled as he looked at the sticker. Out we went, quickly, and began the homeward lurching.

FB: It is not cute.
SD: We are not spending that kind of money based on cuteness.
FB: And it doesn’t even come in green.
SD: You’ve never wanted a green car.
FB: And I don’t now. However, if we are going to spend that kind of money, we should at least be able to get a green one if that’s what we want.
SD: You’ve passed rational.

Once home, I went online and researched some smaller SUVs. I printed out the pictures and info for three of them and presented same to himself in the order I preferred them, my favorite being the Honda CR-V.

We both spent the rest of the afternoon doing our own things, coming together again just before dinner.

SD: Well, I’ll give you this much; the Honda is cute.
FB: Very.
SD (with that s___-eating grin spreading from ear to ear): It’s just too bad it doesn’t come in green.

Yesterday, I traded Carmen in on a silver Honda CR-V. His name is Shiny Stochl. shinydome would smile.

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