Candlelight Reminiscence

Probably I should explain why I intend to kill my cousin. Roger four days ago had a brain tumor removed and now is in therapy to restore some of his motor functions. When I visited him in the hospital, his first words were, “Hey, Danny.” Only relatives and school chums of old -- fossils -- still call me Danny. (Name's Dan.) Roger’s wife and several unknown friends were in the room, ears keenly attuned. The second thing he said was, “Do you remember the wedding?”

I knew straightaway which wedding he meant, although I’d seen Roger only once since high school, almost 40 years ago. At my older bother Paul’s wedding, I was one of the two ushers assigned to light the spiral candelabras on each side of the altar, and I caught my tuxedo sleeve on fire because the wedding director didn’t bother to tell us to start lighting at the top. I’m forever known to the extended family, apparently, for my role in the candlelight wedding.

Hmmm. Roger was feeling squeamish because they’d given him Pepto-Bismol before his salad supper. (We’ll deal with hospital room cuisine in a separate blog sometime.) Perhaps it's time to revive the good, old-fashioned family letter.