Hibernation Not Just For Bears

I have to wonder, what were you like when you were young?

The sexy young boss’s wife asks a lame visitor to her kitchen in Richard Russo’s Nobody’s Fool.

Just like this, the old man says. Only more so.

A novel I read at the neo-classical-agrarian home of Grant Justice. The woods and fields along the Vermont-New Hampshire state line.

The old man awoke at dawn. To look for bear. Wild turkeys. Deer. Nothing. Then it started to snow.

Too late for bear, all asleep in dens unknown to realtors.

Visiting an old friend, can’t help thinking not much has changed. Oh, he has added golden grab bars in the guest bathroom.

Aging is its own safety hazard.

We move much slower. And we seem to repeat ourselves more often. He don’t hear so good. Maybe better than me.

What?

The old man had brought the young redhead to his secret hideout, so she could more smoothly transition into her next stage of life.

Retirement can be a challenge. Eliminating a weekly fifty, sixty hours of stress leaves a hole. Like a bullet through glass.

The career becomes an identity.

Who am I now?

Who she is is a woman alone with two aged retirees who reminisce about the days when running was young and so were we.

Who play trivia games like Top Ten Distance Runners Named Steve. Can’t believe we forgot Plasencia.

Grant Justice might have ruined me for a normal lunch. Sought out a tasty noonish repast every day.

Woodstock Inn & Brewery. Harpoon Brewery. Worthy Burger. The Little Grille. Simon Pearce Glass Factory. My favorites.

We breakfasted more than once at King Arthur Bakery. Sticky buns to die for.

For the young redhead’s birthday, Grant took us deep into the White Mountains. Recently whitened anew.

To the famed hostelry of Presidents, the Mount Washington Resort. Bed & Breakfast Package. Birthday cupcakes.

Just look at the size of the place. Like a scene out of The Shining. The old man knew something what Jack Torrance was going through.

Little kids in parkas running in the lobby. A Bernie Madoff impersonator- complete with that hat – popped in one door, scurried off guiltily.

We were all alone at breakfast. Table after table. Anxious chef seeking somebody to cook for. Table after table. More lox than a New York deli. Oy. Food enough for a battalion of bulemics.

The young redhead curated an omelet of immense size. Extra magical mushrooms.

It’s her birthday and she is retired and she is completely blissed out.

Later we stopped at an outlet mall and headed directly for the store selling athletic footwear in orange boxes.

Do you ever get recognized, I asked Grant.

Not lately, he said. Then he told about visiting a Maine outlet and pulling out his corporate discount card. Still good nearly a half century after becoming that shoe company’s first full-time employee.

Manager comes out of the back room to verify the purchase. Takes one look at a seriously low number. Real low. Pause.

She whispers, “We are in the presence of royalty.”

The old man laughed all the way back out to the car. Grant laughed loudest.

But it’s kinda true. Prince of a fellow.

Meanwhile… No bear. Not so much as a sniff of a moose.

But we saw a couple of deer exactly where you’d expect.