It was a dark and stormy day. Deep in the woods in Hanover a somber group hovered against the chill winter’s drizzle when a shrouded specter slipped from the circle and gently spooned a few ashes into an awaiting hole in the black damp earth, then poured just a bit of Rick Lyman’s favorite adult beverage in after him to tide his spirit to where ever those spirits go.


Meanwhile over to the Norwich Inn, the regular fourth Tuesday Upper Valley luncheon club met on the third Tuesday because Christmas had booked the fourth. The all-inclusive-of-holidays affair was attended by a plethora of ’60s, wives, friends and widows come to join together and await the End of Days on the 21st day of the Mayan calendar with wine and such. 


Here follow the party’s attenders gathered from the highways and byways to attend the feast. I list them to let you know whom to expect next year if you are then driving by the College on the hill: Brooke and Jim Adler, Eric Anderson, Dorla and Tom Brock, Lyn Carlin, Sage and Dick Chase, Diana Diggin, Violetta and Quentin Faulkner, Laura-Beth and Denny Goodman, Malora and Bill Gundy, Honey and Bob Hager, Spike Hamilton, Ann and Roger Hanlon, Gretchen and John Hannon, Wendy and Chip Harris, Peter Hawks, Gail and Dave Hiley, Bob Kenerson, Judy and Gene Kohn, Hila Lyman, Betsy McGuire, Sam McMurtrie, Carol McQuate and John Mitchell, Linda and Rick Roesch, Tony Roisman, Joanne and Eric Sailer, Julie and Dudley Smith, Marcella and Gordon Starkey, Tom Trimarco and Joan Weider.


If you can read this, you survived. Alas, Jim Houser, Peter Herrick and Morris Feldman have departed the fellowship this 2012 year.


This story may be apocryphal—the details are fuzzy. I attended a dinner party for family from far and wide and all were encouraged to bring their children young and old. All during dinner my 4-year-old niece stared at me as I sat across from her. The girl could hardly eat for staring. I checked my shirt for spots, felt my face for food and patted my hair but nothing stopped her from staring. I tried my best to ignore her but finally it was too much for me. I asked her flat out, “Why are you staring at me?” Everyone at the table had noticed her behavior so the table went quiet for her response. My little niece said, “I’m just waiting to see how you drink like a fish.”


If you send me tidbits and squibs about your adventures, you won’t have to read the happy nonsense like the penultimate paragraph.


“Home,” said Robert Frost, “is where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.” This column is where I have to let you in.


—John M. Mitchell, 300 Grove St., Unit 14, Rutland, VT 05701; (802) 775-3716; jmm00033@comcast.net