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| THE GRIMLEY REAPER: Who wouldn't want a date with this man? |
That conversation took place two Tuesdays ago, moments after we finished watching the Netflix documentary Marty, Life is Short, about the comic actor Martin Short.
Until we watched the show I had forgotten I once attended a Halloween party as one of Short's memorable characters, Ed Grimley.
Even better, after we watched the movie, I found this great picture and can see why Helena was so pleased. Pretty sexy, I know.
I recommend you watch the Short doc. The show -- and I'm not exaggerating -- made me laugh -- I'd forgotten about Katharine Hepburn's hot-dog vendor cousin in "Lifestyles of the Relatives of the Rich and Famous" -- and cry. When he was 12, Short's older-by-14 years brother David was killed in a car accident. Young Martin was away at summer camp and recalls in the documentary that his camp counsellor came and told him, "Your brother's been killed in a car crash." Short answered: "but is he okay?"
Easily, the best part of the movie for me was when Short describes the first home he purchased when he and Nancy Dolman first got married. There's footage of the young couple in their new house, and Martin announces the address.
The home's on Indian Road. We live on Grenadier Road. Four blocks west of our house, Grenadier intersects with Indian.
I'm not going to publish the address here. You'll have to watch the show. But you know what went through my head.
This past Saturday was sunny and warm. A few minutes after noon, I headed west toward Indian Road. Told Helena I'd be back in an hour or so.
Ninety minutes later, I got home.
"So?" she asked, "Did you see the house?"
I told her.
Near the end of our block I ran into our neighbhour Healey. (Not his real name.)
He asked how's it going.
"Healey," I said. "I can hardly believe it. You're looking at a guy who is affluent enough and healthy enough and and fortunate enough to spend a whole afternoon doing something as irrelevant and self-indulgent as going for a totally selfish walk for no other reason than I want to. Isn't that nuts? Could a man want for anything else?"
I really did say that. Or something very close to it.
I continued.
I did not, I told Healey, have to work; I didn't have to, like, you know, forage for food. Or fetch water. Or maybe haul a broken wagon axle all the way across town to get it fixed so I can get back to plowing tomorrow.
At this point, you're probably thinking, "If I were Healey, I'd be looking for an exit." But nope. He said he was glad we ran into each other.
"You were raised," I told him, "right."
With that, we plunked ourselves down on a little cement garden wall near his place; Healey proceeded to tell me how in fact he had been raised, and the next 90 minutes zipped in an eyeblink. I went home.
Helena: "Success?"
Me: "You bet."
Life is indeed short. And a person's life story is way more important than some chunk of real estate.
