Mooring Fever

Dear Mac Parker , Part IV

TTFN

A few friends who (remarkably) follow this blog have asked, "When are you going to write the rest of the Mac Parker story?"  They don't say, "You've been foot-dragging," but if they did, they'd be right.

Not that I haven’t tried. But the conclusion of this letter has been difficult. It's not a crowd-pleaser. Not as fizzy -- no beaches, no sailboats, no boppy ‘60s soundtrack. Instead, questions with no answers, never my strong suit. Which is not, as I have learned, such a bad thing, though you couldn’t have told me that 50 years ago.

Anyway, one must finish what one publicly starts. So here, finally, is the rest of the story in a nutshell: we did meet up for one day the summer after that first summer. It didn't quite click, but I don't know why. We never  discussed it; in fact I believe we stopped writing for awhile. Then we resumed. Then we didn't again, now we do. Every Christmas you send a letter; most years, I do, too. I don't know a lot about your life; you are still a private person. I tend to emote freely, so you know much more about mine. We are now in our mid-sixties, so we discuss things like your movie habit, my reactions to grandmotherhood, Social Security.  Maybe a health bulletin here and there. We tend to avoid politics and the Big Issues. Not sure why.

While your mother was still alive, I saw her many summers at The Mooring. We were friends; she was always very nice to me, amazing in so prickly a persona. Your brother was recently here for a visit to the big house; it was a delight to see him again. We had a good long conversation. Perhaps you and I would connect in a good conversation, as well, were you to visit.

But I doubt you will return to Holland, and you know what? It doesn't really matter. In this case, the continuity is the connection, one I find deeply satisfying. I'm happy to think you are still my friend. Fifty years! Now that is something. That is what matters.

For the romantics out there who would like to hear that our summer of  '65 resulted in a 1966 up-a-notch continuation...or perhaps a torrid rekindling 20 years later on the sandy shores of Macatawa  ... I am sorry to disappoint. That version would make an excellent chick-flick, but real life so seldom imitates art. Instead, we come to treasure the reality of what was, and the nuances of what is. The goodness that remains as passions ebb and wisdom flows.

So, for now, as they say: that’s all I got. Signing off, looking forward to next time.

All good wishes,

CC