Happy

I was walking the (borrowed) dog on a typically long pattern late Monday afternoon -- Olivia to Elizabeth, down to Truman, back west -- when I saw a couple coming toward me on the narrow sidewalk near the Deli.

"Aren't you . . . ?", the man said, looking up from the dog's riveting eyes. "John!," the woman said.

I've got your skillet, I said.

And there they were, Arthur and Consuelo, who we met two seasons ago, and who'd trusted the well-seasoned cast-iron pan to me rather than pack it for their trek back north.

Connie had looked for us at the Christmas parade -- they were at Martin's next door, and we were one table away, at 915 -- but we made up for lost time at drinks Tuesday (Mount Gay and tonic -- how could one forget?), and then Arthur took his well-seasoned skillet away to their rental for a while, in the basket on his bike. They're bringing a daughter and son-in-law over for us to meet Saturday.

It's a gift to have them back.