The text asks me to explain how I got us kicked out of Corbin Bowl and I laugh as I respond.
“It wasn’t me, it was your husband or one of his roommates. Maybe I said something to the rent-a-cop after, but I don’t remember starting or finishing anything.”
I get a reply that says she remembers it having been my fault and I shrug my shoulders as I respond.
It was before we had kids, has to be 30 years, might be more. Spent a few minutes trying to find the box of files that holds this particular memory and haven’t found it yet.
What I remember for certain is going back later on and laughing because the guy who issued the lifetime ban wasn’t there.
I can add I know we didn’t get into any sort of physical altercation and I am relatively certain we weren’t drunk. Might have been loud, but whatever it was didn’t stick with me so whatever the reason I didn’t think of it as being noteworthy or memorable.
Are You Still Writing?
Someone asked if I was still blogging and said they were a subscriber and I smiled because it is nice to hear you are missed.
Spent a few minutes troubleshooting how and why they didn’t get notifications of new posts for the past few years and realized it was probably tied to a plug-in I stopped using.
It made me wonder if there are others out there who think I hung up my Smith-Corona and left the field. Got me thinking about all of the bloggers who I have seen come and go and those I miss reading.
More than a few of them have died so there is no hope of their return but there are a few that still pound out a post here and there.
Not sure how often they do it because I stopped subscribing a while back or never did and relied upon remembering to check out what they produced.
If they asked I would tell them that I get too many emails and that I don’t have time to read all I have subscribed to so I have cut back several times.
I know that is why some don’t read my content and that others intentionally avoid reading things that would lead to conversations they prefer not to have.
That reminds me of a conversation I had in a different setting last week in which I reminded them they didn’t hire me to accept whatever answers/responses I am spoon fed.
Don’t remember if I told them it is a trait of mine and there is a list of people who would tell them that I have a response or follow up question to what I hear.
Probably tied to the days in which I trained to become a journalist too. Can’t address the who, what, where, why and how if you don’t gather details.
Reminds me of a conversation years ago when I was sitting with my dad and grandfather and we were asked to provide details about a newborn.
“He is a boy, about a week old.”
“How big?
“Don’t know.”
“Was it an easy birth?”
“Yeah, it was easy for us.”
We all laughed and shrugged our shoulders when we couldn’t answer the specifics of how big, how long labor was and all that other stuff.
The importance of the details vary from person-to-person huh.
Memories
Spent another chunk of time this evening talking about my paternal great-grandfather Ben Wilner with a cousin and recognizing how many memories I have but none address the right questions.
I don’t know where he learned how to speak English or if he knew it prior coming to the U.S. All of his children were born here in the states and they are all long gone now.
One of his younger brothers emigrated from Lithuania to England and I believe all of his children were born there.
So you can say that a significant number of my great-great grandfather’s grandchildren grew up in homes where English was a primary language, but there were some significant differences in how it was learned/spoken.
If you expand things just slightly I can bring in other relatives who lived in Ireland, South Africa and Israel and the accents get really interesting.
During the the five years since my father died I have spent significant chunks of time on family history. I picked up on quite a bit over the years, but there are always big gaps you just don’t get to.
Some of it is because what is important and interesting changes over time. What you think is key at 5, 10, 30 and 55 often doesn’t line up so you don’t ask.
And sometimes even the things you live through don’t stick with you for a million different reasons.
Why did we get thrown out of Corbin Bowl? Hell, I just don’t remember and though it is not important I’ll probably spend a few more minutes thinking about it.
If I can find a connection to another moment from the night I can probably pull it together or at least some of it. Did we shoot pool and go bowling?
Not sure.
When did Grandpa learn English?
Not sure that anyone can answer that question now, but it is of interest to me. Maybe I’ll find out and maybe I won’t.
