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Yesterday, as you may have heard, was David C. Fischer’s father’s birthday. Coincidentally, March the Ninth is also the anniversary of Dave’s dad’s mother’s death. Gramma Fischer is now twenty years gone to the Great Beyond. So, as I say, Dave’s dad’s mother died on Dave’s dad’s birthday, and, I will tell you, Dave’s son coincidentally died a little more than eighteen years ago, at the age of eighteen, on the birthday of one of his grandmothers. Further coincidentally, Dave’s son’s Grandma Fischer, that is, Dave’s mother, Dave’s son’s grandmother, died on Dave’s son’s birthday, coming up on nine years ago it’ll be.
Dave’s Grandpa Fischer, I suppose I should mention, died just about twenty-seven years ago, on the day after Dave’s birthday, but Dave doesn’t see that as a coincidence, more like merely a near coincidence, and I feel obligated to mention it only to point out that the one practical consequence and benefit of these several shared dates of major family events is that Dave, a decidedly forgetful fellow, has fewer dates to remember than he otherwise would.
For whatever it may be worth, I will now tell you of one more coincidence, a small coincidence, a coincidence that, as of this date, March the Tenth, seems, unlike everything else I have mentioned here so far, not to involve anyone’s demise. Bear with me if you are willing.
Yesterday, David Fischer, and his wife, and Dave’s cousin Barry, and Dave’s dad, all went out for lunch to celebrate Dave’s dad’s birthday at the Saddlebags Bar & Grill in Ninian, Wisconsin, which is, you may be aware, about seventeen miles from Fjord. They arrived about half-past noon and found the place was packed. Not so much the bar, but the dining room, which seats maybe forty or fifty, was fully occupied, the four Fjord folks could see, from where they paused at the Please Wait for Hostess sign just inside the door. The roar of conversations approximated the volume of a fully-loaded, briskly rolling freight train. Fisher figured the noise was due partly to enthusiasm of the lunch crowd and partly to the unfortunate acoustics of the cowboy-themed wood walls and the faux-antique embossed tin ceiling panels of the restaurant.
The four from Fjord waited several minutes, but eventually a hostess, or actually a waitress, a server, welcomed the birthday celebrators and guided them to a freshly vacated table, furnished them with a total of two menus and promised two more, and brought glasses of ice water, as no one requested other beverages. Eventually the birthday celebrators placed their meal orders and blessed the anticipated meals with their Come Lord Jesus grace within the roar of the freight train, and then, before the meals arrived, Dave excused himself to visit the rest room.
As Dave crossed the Please Wait for Hostess area, he noticed a woman he thought he recognized standing there alone. He stopped and asked, “Are you Evelyn?” She said she was. Dave introduced himself and explained where they had met, and one thing led to another until the woman revealed that she was acquainted with Dave’s dad from the gym that they both belong to, in Ninian. Dave said, “Well, Evelyn, if you aren’t in a rush right now, why don’t you come wish my father a Happy Birthday. He has turned ninety-three today.” Evelyn said, “Oh! I’m turning ninety, myself, in a couple months. In June. I’m here to arrange for the Saddlebags to cater my party.” Dave replied, “Ninety? Wonderful! What day in June is your birthday?” When Evelyn told him, Dave exclaimed, “That’s my birthday, too! I will turn seventy the day you’re turning ninety!”
Hmmm. There might be a little more to this story, but I think I have probably exhausted the coincidences. Perhaps prudence requires that I postpone any further reports on this subject until sometime in June. Thank you for your patience and your kind attention.
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