22 May 2013 / leggypeggy

Marking a special day

Kearney Daily Hub, Nebraska, smoking, United States

A light bulb comes on in a furniture store in Spain

A light bulb surrounded by ashtrays in a furniture store in Spain

I ran into two old friends last night.

Ed was sitting in the restaurant. We greeted one another briefly and he pointed me toward the foyer, saying I would find Helen there. Sure enough, she was standing just outside the dining room holding two cups of yoghurt.

We exchanged a few words and then she asked me to move on because ‘the thugs behind me are going to take this yoghurt’. Beyond Helen were two Blues-Brothers types, wearing suits, ponytails and no sunglasses. They smirked.

And then I woke up!

Egads, why in the world would I dream about Helen and Ed? Yes, they were a very special couple to me, but both died many years ago. Ed had been my first editor, back in the days when I worked on a daily newspaper in Nebraska. Helen was his wife. I adored them, and they were very good to this then-young journalist.

But why was I dreaming about them? I reckon it had to do with a story Ed told me about their married life.

I’ll set the scene and share the story and you can decide if I’m right.

It’s the early 1970s. The community is about to celebrate its 125th anniversary and the newspaper, the Kearney Daily Hub, is compiling a special commemorative edition. I’m in the office on a Sunday afternoon, pasting up proof pages. The office had agreed that the journos should paste-up the layouts for this publication. It wasn’t our normal job, but the newspaper wasn’t a union shop and we knew the stories and were more likely to be able to juggle text sympathetically.

Ed and Helen strolled by and when they noticed I was there, they popped in to say hello. I stopped for a smoko—cigarettes in the office were still the norm—and Ed said, ‘Shall I tell you about when we quit smoking?’

Helen choked on a giggle and wandered away, shoulders juddering.

Ed proceeded to recount the many times they had tried to stop smoking. Helen would try and Ed wouldn’t, and vice versa. So finally Ed told her to pick a day and let him know, and he’d quit with her.

He arrived home after a long, trying day. It just so happened that Helen swooped on him with the makings of a ‘heated discussion’.

By the time Ed was relating the story to me, he could no longer remember the issue—just the way it all played out.

Helen was on the front foot, and the discussion went on and on. Ed groped in a kitchen cupboard for a pack of cigarettes, then a desk drawer, then to the bedroom—all the while trying to hold his own in the ‘discussion’.

Finally he broke. ‘Where are the $#@*?&# cigarettes?’

Helen leaned back, folded her arms and nonchalantly said, ‘Oh, I guess I forgot to tell you. We’ve quit!’ As Ed said, he lost the ‘discussion’ and had to quit smoking. And he had no regrets.

As for me? I stopped smoking seven years ago today. No regrets—just dreams about dear friends!