I walk past this exact spot (44.0595, -121.3155) on the Deschutes River about four times per week. Twice a week it’s on my way to the Commons to have coffee and repartee with my old dudes. The conversation is generally about two hours of hilarious banter about trying to cope with words, visual art, local driving hazards, crazy people, world travel, professional deep-sea fishing, and of course the world going to hell. Occasionally we get into golf, boat racing on the Columbia, professional polo, what women want, and moving to Sedona.
This last month I’ve been centering my life on my homegrown veggies which Debbie has converted into rhubarb chutney and Black Krim/green tomato chutney. We dudes have been swapping various concoctions we’ve cooked up. One of our guys was a professional cook for high-end restaurants for forty years, so the standards of excellence are very high. I start salivating about this stuff even while I’m writing this dribble.
Do all old guys have as much fun as we retired Bendites? Or is this a retreaded Bendor dudes’ monopoly?
