Ed Pratt: Musings while waiting on a friend (2024)

Amid all the rancor of politics, war in the Middle East and the daily hell in the streets, I recently experienced an interesting morning thinking about events, both large and small, that I witnessed recently.

It started when I was sitting in the lobby of a large local medical center, where I had taken a neighbor for a medical checkup.

It is one of those big facilities where health care is like a conveyor belt. Folks arrive in wheelchairs, some walking slow, some neatly dressed and others not so much. They are funneled to elevators, to rooms where syringes and X-ray gadgets are waiting. You can see their anxiety: “Am I all right?” “How bad is it?”

You can see others leaving with “Thank goodness” on their faces.

Seated near me was an older guy knee-deep in a series of chest-rattling coughs. I thought, if he coughed any harder he would sprain his ankle. I wanted to move, but not to appear that I was doing it because of him. COVID is still real. Luckily, whomever he was waiting for arrived and he left.

I thought about days earlier, walking toward a post office entrance with a woman a few steps ahead of me. I reached out. “Hey, wait, my grandmother raised me, so I have to open the door for you.” The woman, in her 70s or older, looked over her shoulder, smiled and stopped. I opened the door and we entered.

A minute later she was heading to the door. “Wait, you remember, I HAVE to open the door,” I said. She stopped and smiled. “I’ve been a widow for 41 years. I’m used to doing this,” as she let me open the door. “Have a great day,” she said. “You, too,” I answered back. Her pleasant acceptance made that moment invaluable.

I thought about a funeral (yet another one) of a long-time friend I went to on Saturday. He and I met in the first grade and continued all the way through high school. Darrell Carney was a gentle soul who was always good to be around. Too often people like him fade into the background. I hadn’t seen him in about 30 years.

When I entered the funeral facility, I was approached and asked to speak about him in the service. Without hesitation, I got up to talk about the guy I knew. I admitted we had not seen each other for decades, but you know, when someone has a place in your heart, that spot is always there, no matter how long you are out of sight. I think I did OK.

Just days earlier I saw an unusual obituary in this newspaper. It listed a young man who it said died “because of gun violence. He was 22…” It did not mention the names of relatives or anyone else. It just ended with the time and location of the religious services. I was sad and wanted to know more. Hopefully, I will. But just the words “as a result of gun violence” spoke volumes.

Also during my wait, I thought about a recent dinner with my wife where I ordered a steak, which I don’t do very often. Generally, I like stuff out of the water that start with names like Cat, Goo, Buffalo, Craw, Red…You get the picture.

Well, when I looked at the price of the steak, something struck me. It was $62 and what I wanted boosted the price $69. It hit me that was about the total monthly check my grandmother got to pay for our rent, food, utilities, clothes, school lunch and everything else.

As that thought rolled around in my head, I considered changing my order. But, you know, I think my grandmother would have been happy for me — and also warned me not to have any leftovers.

“You betta eat all of it. They got children who would want to have that,” she would have preached.

Just then my neighbor came out and it was time to go. We stopped and picked up some chicken cracklings, much to the fine dining delight of my neighbor, who had never tasted such things. All in all, an interesting morning.