My friends and I gather at a watering hole every Sunday, something that's become the highlight of my week since bars re-opened.
The pandemic has proven to me the basic human need of conviviality.
The crew, a not-hard-drinking lot, gathers not so much to discuss issues of the day but to share time with each other. We ask Dennis about his truck. Pete about his cats. Brian about the house he's building in Ohio. Mike and his wife Nancy about their gardening adventures. I'm asked about my job search.
There are other passersby, remnants from the Horseshoe group at Upland. A weird mix of working folks and people with doctorates, all of them brilliant in their own way. For some reason, they accepted me as a newbie when I came to Bloomington. I'm told by Doctor Dan that my sense of humor is messed up --just enough.
Now the diminished group drinks at another spot for various reasons. But the need to gather with familiar faces is not diminished.
I've always considered myself monastic to a sense, perhaps the reason for just a seven-year marriage. I need my reading and writing time. Hell, I need time to sit in a chair and do nothing but think. My time at the Hermitage on Lake Lemon has thus been a blessing and a boon.
It turns out I need people as well.
And some beer helps.
Peace and friendship and beer unto all of you my brothers and sisters.