A Memorable

Even though my postal code has changed, my heart remains where I resided for half a century.

And yes, I still read that local newspaper daily; always feeling a kinship with what occurs in the world I left.

This morning I saw his name, and sadly, it was an obituary.

And I thought, I must call and tell............

Then I remembered there is no one left to tell.

No one who remembers him or us or those days that were so long ago, but remain as vivid as a box of Crayola crayons.

The occasion I remember was a dinner my husband and I shared with two other couples. One of the other guests had recommended the restaurant, new to the neighborhood.

We all welcomed the adventure and were delighted with the scope of the menu.

He, however, was particularly thrilled because it featured Hasenpfeffer, a memory from his childhood. None of the others in the dinner party were quite as excited, and we all found more mundane items to select.

It was a happy night until toward the end of the evening we noticed how quiet he became. Then he asked his wife if she would mind leaving.

We said our adieus, thinking he probably had an early morning appointment and went home to our own beds.

The next day we heard he was hospitalized due to an allergic reaction from his long remembered childhood treat.

The hasenpfeffer almost caused his demise.

We saw each other on occasion after that fateful evening, but whenever his name was mentioned so was Hasenpfeffer.

And of course, that was ever so long ago, and we were all young, and thought life went on forever.

However, it didn’t and when I wanted to tell someone today that he had passed on, there was no one who would remember him or rabbit stew or even mourn the passing of a quiet neighbor.