“Denny-Poo and Dee-Dee Do Dora’s Diner…”

My date with Denny-Poo.

We had not met since before Covid.

I waited in front of Dora's Diner for him to arrive, as we had planned earlier. today.

Fifteen minutes later along came Denny-Poo.

Oh, my gawd!

… He’s an old man now. 😳

My friend walks with a cane after knee surgery…just like me.

His reddish/brown hair is now pure white, it is clipped to a thin crew cut.

My friend’s complexion is a translucent, shiny porcelain not the ruddy outdoor patina I remember.

Denny-Poo and I are both 83 years young now…I know him since we were in our mid-twenties. 👩‍🦳👴

He & his late wife, Joyce were neighbor/friends from the suburban small Long Island town where we raised our young families.

I was first to move out of the suburbs in 1976, to Manhattan. They followed moving 3 city blocks from me…followed by many townies who are my Manhattan neighbors. This why I tell people, “My old neighbors are once again, my neighbors… again”!

Our adult children who played as little kids, today are “Face-Book Friends”.

I observe that his build still resembles "Brutus" from the Popeye cartoons, with wide shoulders tapering down to very slender hips and legs.

Denny-Poo is the guy that announces to me, (regularly whenever we phone), “I got my luggage packed… ready to leave this planet”.

He’s my infamous favorite grouchy pal…that requires me to make him laugh. That’s not easy feat believe me!

So, I ordered a glass of wine...immediately!

(I anticipate that entertaining him will require effort, hence the necessity for a drink)! I thought he’d join me as he always loved his Jack Daniels on the rocks.

“Fuhgeddaboudit…” he is a shadow of his prior self, but he is still my dear Denny-Poo…

We repeat ancient stories of fun we had as young couples, while we eat our Greek Salads heavy with Feta Cheese. The warm Pita Bread ain’t too bad…either. mmmmm! 😜

I remind him how we were on a boat together with 4 other couples in the late 1970’s. We were returning from Westhampton Beach after a fun, summer weekend. My husband’s business partner was at the wheel… drunk, obnoxious, reckless & solely decided to steer us home thru the rough Atlantic Ocean, at night. He should have used instead the relatively safe inland waterway, and he should have left while it was still daylight.

Since I had lived in Rockaway Beach community years before, thus I was familiar with his dangerous choice.

Overwhelmed with fear, memories of us as parents to young children came rushing back, but I was unable to persuade the boat's captain to avoid venturing into the ocean.

Beyond the dark waters, I was aware of the massive unlit rock jetties jutting out along this route.

Clinging to a table in the cabin below… with clenched, white-knuckled fists, I held onto Denny-Poo.

My screams were relentless as I gripped him so tightly. He was my rock. And my husband? You may wonder where Arthur was.

He was at the helm of the speeding boat which belonged to his partner… struggling to steer a steadier course.

When we eventually arrived at the home marina…I was hoarse, and Denny-Poo had a sore shoulder from my unrelenting gripe & an earache from my screaming! 😥

Only then did this cutie-pie confesses “I can’t swim…I never learnt”! 😮🙄