This is half a repost from 2013. But, it began yesterday, in the gym. Kristen had me working away on biceps or triceps or some such, and I looked up and further afield. I knew that back! I jumped up, Kristen following, and went around front. He’ll be more presentable when his wife objects to the beard, but it was Doug. His therapist objected when I focused my phone, but Doug said “It’s OK. I know her. I even like her.”
The first line is a link to the first post, notable mostly for links all over the township. The original story was a lot of fun, so skip on through to it if you like.
Heavy rains, today. An inch or more forecast, and that is excellent. Yesterday the skies were the blue that artists paint and poets write of.
At work I went looking for the road guys, to get some paperwork signed. Down the hall, through the road office, through the road garage, until I spotted them through the open bay doors, out in the yard, looking up, up into the sky.
You know I think the world of these two men. Tim, the road super, who saved the sunflower from the Memorial Day parade last year. The sunflower that Doug, the road assistant, and I were charged with watering the week Tim was on vacation. In one day we nearly baked the poor thing to death, but Doug set up an IV drip of chicken shit water and Sunny was revived.
So, I found Tim and Doug looking way up, and I looked around too, but only saw three planes and their contrails. Cleveland Hopkins International Airport is about twenty miles northwest of the town hall, and air traffic is not an uncommon sight. As I remarked.
“Do you ever wonder if they will crash in the sky; look how close those two are!”
No, I’ve never wondered that, as air traffic controllers are in charge.
A little disappointed planes in the sky did not fascinate me, Tim added “We’ve seen the President’s plane go over.”
“NO WAY! How did you know?”
“Fighter jet escorts, one on each wing.”
Having the Fiscal Officer suitably impressed, Tim added “Doug’s even seen numbers in the sky. Tell her, Doug.”
An embarrassed Doug was prodded into his story. Driving with a buddy, they both remarked on the striking cloud formations ahead of them, clearly, remarkably forming three different numbers. No question about it, they both saw them and said them. “We should play those,” Doug’s buddy said. “Waste of a buck,” Doug said.
At the next gas stop Doug filled the tank and looked around for his friend, who came out of the station folding his lottery ticket. He’d played the numbers pick three, boxed. He advised Doug to go buy a ticket. Doug called him an idiot and they got back on the road.
You know the end. The buddy won $790. Doug’s not seen numbers in the sky since.
The sky, yesterday. That perfect blue; a June sky in October.
And, Doug got his new knee. He fought it for at least three years. Now, he'll probably go back for the other knee.