Codger’s column: Ghosts at the table

It was a wonderful Thanksgiving, especially after missing out on last year.

There were family firsts! A grandson brought a girlfriend. Codger actually polished the Crone family silver, hours of mindless but gratifying labor that offered that rare reward, a sparkling finish.

And there was an all-day Monopoly game that revealed Codger’s own flesh and blood as killer real estate sharks. Where were those kids when he needed them? In partnership with his sister, Codger owned Boardwalk and Park Place and still went bankrupt!

Too late, he finally understood capitalism. It’s over his head.

Crone was in a more pensive mood, even after the plaudits for what might have been her best turkey ever. She was thinking, she told Codger, about the absent guests, the ones she thought of as the ghosts at the table.

Initially, it seemed like a melancholy thought, but the more Codger considered it, the more it seemed appropriate for the holiday season, and even comforting. People we care about will pass, but they never have to be dead to us. There is always room at the table for ghosts.

The toll has seemed higher than usual lately, especially on the Island. The first victims of COVID here were friends. Forrest Compton died last year at 94, his wife, Jeanne, 11 days later. The soul of the Fitness Center among other local institutions, Garth Griffin, died last January. In July, Lynn Franklin died after many years struggling with cancer.

Codger misses talking to them, especially Forrest on soap operas and Garth on the Rangers. When those topics come up, or something spiritual Lynn might have mentioned, Codger thinks of them, then has to remind himself that they are offline now. At first, he thought there was something odd about that train of thought, now he takes pleasure in it. They are still available.

Sometimes he makes up a conversation with the ghosts at the table.

Codger still talks to his dad, although he’s been physically gone for 16 years. He died three months shy of his 101st birthday, his mind and emotional reach better than ever, although his knees and ears were shot, and who knew what else since he refused to go to the doctor.

If he felt poorly, which was not often, he would retreat to a corner with a cup of tea until he felt better.

Codger particularly enjoys medical conversations with his dad, which are filled with attitude even now. Once, when they took Mom to an appointment, Dad asked the doctor, pleasantly enough, “How is it you don’t know what’s wrong with my wife but you know precisely that whatever it is it costs $240.78?”

The doctor looked stunned. He had nothing to say. Future visits were more satisfying.

While Codger endorses chatting with the dead, he thinks we should make more of an effort these days to chat with the living. But it’s complicated. People seem needier now, more vulnerable, lonelier. The air hangs heavy with dread, the spike in COVID deaths, a future of new variants, the menace of politically-based violence. What should we talk about that won’t crank up anxiety?

For purposes of assigning moorings, should hotels be classed as “residents?” Is “spot zoning” a good thing? What is spot zoning exactly? What’s the fairest way of offering affordable housing units? Should new houses be limited to one bathroom per resident? What is a resident? Aren’t these questions the sort of Monopoly issues that are beyond Codger?

Oh well, how about: Why aren’t you wearing a mask?

Now there’s an ice breaker. Codger tried it out on a woman in the Heights post office standing a few feet from a sign requesting people in the lobby to wear masks. She looks offended and says she’s been vaccinated.

Codger has a lot more to say, but he just shuts up. He’s been here before, and it never ends well. He is scheduled to check into the hospital in a few days for a back operation, and he just needs to get through the week without getting sick.

But here is this selfish, stupid person who doesn’t know or care that vaccinated or not she could be capable of transmitting alpha, delta, omicron, whatever. Without a mask, she’s more vulnerable to infection, as well.

So Codger dials up his dad, who reminds Codger that when he taught him to drive 67 years ago he always said: There are lots of idiots on the road and you have to drive for them, too. You cannot depend on them to do the right thing. 

Codger waves the woman ahead of him on line and steps back. Everyone else in the lobby is masked.

Cool. Sometimes the ghosts at the table have the best advice.