#24 The Runway Keeps Getting Shorter

I ran into an old friend from high school.

In 1970, while in 10th grade, I met a girl.

For about 10 months, I thought I was behaving like her boyfriend. She didn’t, and by 1971, I was not walking around thinking she was my girlfriend anymore.

In 2017, I married her.

Back in high school, I had all the time in the world. And I had plenty to prove.

In 2023, there is less to prove, and the runway gets shorter every day.

I saw Diana again in the early 1990s. She had moved away and had come back, like me, for the high school reunion. Our little kids were running around in the park throwing maple leaf helicopters in the air. A few years later, we were all back in Syracuse for a funeral for the parent of one of our friends. Then at least ten years went by before we saw each other.

We both had aging parents which brought us back to Syracuse often. I ran into her while out running errands. We brought each other up to date. Our kids were grown and out of the house. I was single, seeing someone, and commuting back and forth from New York City. She was married to the man she met as a freshman in college.

I remembered what had happened in 1971 when she went off in a different direction. She had explained it to me. A lot had happened since then. I was different. She seemed very much the same.

Now, for more than five years we have lived in the 1,000 square-foot house built on the original farmhouse site. The kitchen, living room and bedroom are all in one room. Monday through Friday, I commute less than a minute up the hill to meet with the vineyard team at 7 AM. Diana is in around 9 AM. We close up a little before 6 PM after counting the cash drawer. After locking up, we take the short drive home down the hill. We let Ziggy out. We launch the ball and let him fetch it. We feed him, then set out what we planned for dinner. We prep and cook dinner together. We include wine.

Weekends are busiest, especially during the summer. We get away on occasion, always together. As time goes on, we will get away more, once I become less obsessive about climbing the next hill in front of all of us.

I know you, she says. She has been patient.

But (I remind her), so was I.