"Remember when...."

I did something the other day folks rarely do anymore, at least with folks I know. I talked on the phone. I don't do a lot of phone talking these days. I like texting. Writing, though not always apparent, comes naturally to me and is my preferred vessel for communication. 

There are days when I take inventory before hitting the hay at night and realize I have spoken 13 words the entire day. 

So it was a bit of shock to look down at my iPhone and see that I was on the horn for 117 minutes and 28 seconds. I should contact the folks at Guiness.

The point of the call was nothing more than to catch up with my high school friend Bob B. (I'll refrain from identifying him for any discretionary purposes.) Fact is, we were friends even before high school and our shared history goes back 52 years. 

That's a long time. And I consider myself privileged that I still have mates that date back to the time of bell bottom pants and shirts made from Quianna polyester that can spontaneously combust at any given moment.

In between reminiscing about drunken weddings, funny funerals, camping mishaps, old girlfriends and life's other assorted adventures we came upon a simple observation, one that may or may not stand up to rigorous examination. Especially because in the span of 117 minutes, ample Merlot was consumed.

If you haven't guessed from the picture, it regards timelines. Not from an academic or biological standpoint. But from an anecdotal/behavioral one. 

We agreed that life has a funny way of coming full circle. And by that I mean the people/friends/relatives who populated our early formative years, have come around and now inhabit our lives in the pre-Dirt Nap Days, if I can be so brutal.

In the last two years I have reconnected with my cousin on Long Island, who I haven't spoken to in 50 years. As well as my cousin Alan, who along with his sister, lived with our family when his mother tragically passed away when he was just a kid. My own personal tragedy resulted in an unpredictable bond with a friend from the neighborhood as well as other high school alums who are in the Club No One Wants To Be In.

Jim, my former boss from Needless Hardons & Tears, is now in back in town and driving my daughter's car. And I was magically and happily reunited with Ms. Muse, who I hadn't seen or talked to for more than 30 years since our time at Bozell.

It's a very odd phenomena. Perhaps brought on by my recent re-watching of The Sopranos, which whisks me back to life in Northern New Jersey.

No snappy ending today. Just wondering if anyone else with grey hair, or no hair, is experiencing the same thing?