7:30 AM – Thank goodness the weather broke clear, counter to predictions. The threat of snow or rain did not materialize.  With heavy hearts, my wife and love Dorothy and I were headed for the funeral of our dear friend Peggy in Tarrytown, the wife of best friend Joe (my dad told me as a youngster that you could count your true friends on the fingers of one hand, Joe is one).  Peg had had a recent history of circulatory problems, but was responding to treatment.  She collapsed suddenly at home and never recovered.

Joe and Peg helped me during a tough time in my life.  My first wife Betsy was diagnosed with lymphatic cancer in 1962 and died a year later.  They were there at every turn.  We shared the same wedding anniversary, one year apart.  We were young marrieds living in a garden apartment set on a hill overlooking the Hudson.  There were enough other young couples living in the same complex – mostly commuters just starting first jobs – that we fielded a damned good softball entry in the town league and almost won in 1960, losing to the Ardwino’s Delicatessen in a close race.  They were magic years and most of us have stayed in touch.

The closer we got to the church, the quicker the memories came.  The service was uplifting.  A handsome number of nephews and nieces presented the readings, the Prayers of the Faithful, the Presentation of the Gifts.  Son Joe’s remarks about his mother were poignant and very well delivered.

Suddenly I remembered that overcast afternoon, November 16, 1963 (six days before President Kennedy was shot).  The limo pulled into the cemetery, behind the hearse, where Betsy is buried.  Joe was a pallbearer.  As I got out, Peggy rushed up and gave me a big hug as the procession to the gravesite formed.  Our tears mingled, as she steadied me.  I fell in line behind Betsy’s coffin.

The reception following the service for Peg rekindled more memories. The last time I had been in Tarrytown was to attend the funeral of their then college-aged second son Mark, who died in a tragic traffic accident many years before.  The pain of the death of a friend or relative is often mitigated somewhat at receptions following the service.  This day would be no exception.  Watching the interaction between Joe and Peg’s three children, ten grandchildren, and nephews, nieces, grand nephews and grand nieces, aunts and uncles – too numerous to mention – was in its own special way the ultimate blessing to Peggy.  Meeting many of them for the first time etched the warmth of a loving family.

2:00pm and time to say goodbye.  We drove by my old apartment grounds and headed back north to New Haven.

Two months earlier, Jamie Goodale, a hockey teammate and close friend from college, had invited myself and Peter Meyer, a roommate, teammate and also a great friend, to view the Yale Hockey team’s last home game against Cornell 2/26/11.  This season, Yale has ranked among the top three teams in the country.  Thanks to Jamie, the hard to come by ticket was in my jacket pocket.

Dorothy dropped me off at the Ingall’s rink at 3:30pm and continued on home to Essex. Jamie, Pete and I were to meet an hour later and drive to Mory’s for a pre game “warm- up” and dinner.  Murphy’s law and a missed connection!  They drove past the rink as I was inside trying to stay warm.  I had left my lined jacket in the car in favor of my blazer. They continued on to Mory’s and, comfortably ensconced at the cozy warm bar, began sipping, while awaiting my arrival.  Jamie’s wife Toni accompanied him.

Meanwhile, I waited in the freezing rink wondering where the hell they were.  It was actually warmer outside than in until the sun began to set.  I got a passing student to call me a cab on his cell phone.  Twenty-five minutes later, just before hypothermia set in, the cabbie arrived, short on English, and asked me for directions to Mory’s.  My teeth were chattering as I let loose a string of invective which he did understand, and barked at him to call the dispatcher.  $17.00 later (including a “nominal” gratuity), I entered the first floor bar to find the three, oblivious to my plight, but glad to see me.  One rare, rib eye and one large tumbler of defrost later, we were on our way to the rink.

I don’t move the way I used to.  Between Jamie and Peter they waited for me, helped me climb stairs up and down, and in and out of cars and limos with such care that I felt like the impotent potentate.  When at last we arrived, our seats were situated high in the arena, on the blue line, a perfect spot to view the game.

Yale was already assured home ice advantage, and a first round bye in the ECAC Hockey playoffs and is seeded #2 behind Union.  Cornell earned the #4 seed.  The game was played at a very fast pace. Yale won a well-deserved, highly coached, incredibly fast skating, hard fought victory.  Cornell was outshot 48- 19, 14- 5 in the first period.  The Cornell goalie was outstanding.  The speed and skills displayed on both sides of the puck were a treat to behold.  The building rocked, with the sell-out crowd roaring over the din of the Cornell and Yale bands.

Peter had flown in the night before from Dallas and spent the night at the New York Yacht Club.  He rented a car for the trip to New Haven and, after the game ended, dropped me off at home in Essex on his way to spending the night in Stonington with his brother.

The company, Mory’s, the entire evening were the right ingredients to distract from the pain of earlier events.  Old friends can’t cure heavy hearts or achy, aging joints, but they remain the best remedy I know.

February 26th was a long day.  My prayers that night took a lot longer before I finally fell asleep.