Saturday, May 25, 2024

All things pass in time


                                            2011 Adirondak 90 miler

The impermanence of life can be both a source of happiness and disappointment.  Many moons ago, it seems like a lifetime or only yesterday, Leigh came into my life through our jobs; he an OB/GYN doctor and my role as a nurse anesthetist.  We soon become best friends.  Of course, Leigh makes it easy to befriend because of his amiable and affable personality.  We've shared many times together doing the mundane to spectacular adventures like hiking 100-kms of the Camino de St. Jacques in Spain to leisurely dinners as well as Thanksgiving feasts.  Leigh is a sharer, a giver.  Of our many endeavors, one of the most enduring is the 13 years we participated in the 3-day challenge of the Adirondak 90-miler canoe/kayak race.  so many faux-pas and mishaps along the way have made for innumerable stories told and retold between ourselves as well as with family and friends.

Over the, too quickly, passing years we shared the growth and successes of our kids and grandkids.  Again, so many stories to remember, such as helping his daughter Katie rescue adrift kayaks during a hailstorm on the St. Lawrence River, Leigh teaching my grand-daughter, Crystal to play the banjo, and never to forget; hiking/camping at Philmont Boy Scout Ranch in New Mexico with Karen (Leigh's wife) and their son Sky, and Katie too.  We also share a background of military service with the U.S. Navy.  Both Leigh and I served and as well, all of our children are either still on active duty with the Navy (Sky and Katie) or are veterans of Navy service (Bobby and Michelle.)  Michelle was/is a U.S. Marine, but in case you are unaware, the Marine Corps is a part of the Navy.

We've been on a Carribean cruise together and Karen and Leigh have visited casa Larock in Florida numerous times, though not since hurricane Ian.

Last night, after my return from Florida, the 3 of us (Karen, Leigh, & myself,) dined together at the Ironhorse Grill to catch up on what has happened over the winter with our respective lives.

Much to my surprise I was informed that Leigh has decided to retire (end of June, next month,) and is currently in the process of selling their home and have already rented a home in /near Portsmouth, Virgina for the next 2 years to be near their daughter Katie while she completes her residency.  You could have knocked me over with a feather.  I knew he had been considering retirement over the last couple of years but shazam, this decision, once made, let no grass grow under their feet.

And "so it goes" as Kurt Vonnegut would say.  To say I'm happy for them would be an understatement, but I wonder what the future holds for our times together.  Selfish, I know!  Nothing lasts forever. I look forward to navigating this next chapter in our relationship. They are still keeping their cottage on the shore of the St. Lawrence River so I'm confident that there will be opportunities to add to our list of get-togethers and adventures.  Last night we even discussed a kayak or canoe trip up the Rideau.  And who knows maybe a visit to Virgina is in the cards for me in the near future.

Old adages are old for a reason; the truths they impart: "nothing last forever."  "The more things change, the more they remain the same."

Grab the reins of life and ride like the wind, leave nothing undone for too soon the ride stops.

                                                                          Hiking the Camino.

Thursday, December 14, 2023

 On the patio, former screen room, at 0245.

62 degrees w/ 12 mph winds out of the NE, (a gentle breeze, as defined by Google.) Had 6 hrs. 45 min of slumber.
The coffee is hot and the Marine's, next door neighbor, flag is straight out rippling in the wind.
Why am I bothering you with this trivia? With my mind shuffling through infinite and sometimes troublesome thoughts, the best solution for me is to rise, attend to morning routine, and sit on the patio, listening to YouTube melodies and write.
While attuning my thoughts thusly, my mind clears of dark thoughts and let's me thank God for giving me one more morning. One more morning to appreciate my health, and witness the splendor of this world he created.
Thanks for reading, or not. Have a great day.
God bless you.

Friday, December 01, 2023

Sleep habits after retirement.


It's Friday, December 1st, 2023 and I'm at my laptop writing about my woes as they relate to my sleep habits.  At this exact moment, it's 0234.  Please note that I've been up and awake since 1210 AM.  The delay between getting up and coming to write about it just demonstrates my life long habit of giving in to procrastination too often.  But here I am; finally.

At 9 PM last night, one hour later than my usual bedtime, I climbed between the sheets.  I'm thankful for a lifelong habit of being able to fall asleep literally a few minutes after my head gets comfortable on my pillow.  My issue is that 3 hours later, I'm wide awake. That is not enough sleep time to satisfy the sleep experts and my Smart watch.  To be honest, I'll get one, for sure, and maybe 2 naps in throughout the day and usually accumulate 7 + hours of sleep in a 24-hour period.

Three years past my retirement date at 75 years of age and 4 years from my expected life span (the expert's divination) end and I'm worrying about my sleep habits.  When I complained about this to my primary care doctor this past May at my bi-annual check-up he said, "Bob, you're 78 years old, it's ok to take naps and have less energy than in your earlier years."  I listened and nodded my head in agreement, but inside said to myself, "the calendar my say I'm entitled, but my mind refuses to accept that I must act old."

Fifty years of employment programed my circadian rhythm.  My routine over that span of time consisted of: bedtime at 8 PM, if not working in the OR on call.  Awakening and arising at 3:30 AM, Pee, coffee, ruminate. At 4:00 AM be in my gym working out. 5 AM, in the shower. 5:30 prepare and eat breakfast and at 6 AM leave for the hospital to work.

So early rising is the norm for my life.  Getting only 3 - 4 hours of sleep is not my norm.

It seems, as relayed by the "experts," that this is the norm for people as they age.  Whoop-dee-doo, I'm "normal."  As if that's supposed to make me feel better.  These same experts advise that to prevent this early awakening, one must get more exercise, don't eat a large meat less than 3 hours before bedtime, and keep to a regular routine.   They also recommend less screen time (TV, and blue light devices.)

I get plenty of exercise, much more than most people my age; I play pickleball 4 - 5 days a week for at least 2 hours per session, plus I get 6,000 to 10,000 steps of walking in daily.  I rarely eat a meal after 5 PM.  I am, however, a worrywart and stress over anything and everything. Too often, when awaking after only a few hours of sleep it's some problem I'm worrying about that wakes me, and the only thing to do is get up, I refuse to lay in bed awake, and distract myself, usually by reading my ever-present book or write something.  Imagine a self-proclaimed writer actually sitting down and writing.  However, recently I have begun journaling my daily activities.

Anyway, that's it for this morning.  Just felt like putting it down in writing.  No solutions offered, no prognostications.  Just putting it out there.

Now I'm faced with the decision between preparing breakfast or going back to bed; I'm a little tired but not sure enough so as to fall asleep.

Sunday, November 05, 2023



It's noonish, yesterday, I'm feeling disposed to take a nap.  I've been up since 2 AM and, among other things, have spent 4 hours typing a blog post; see yesterday's post.

My usual nap time is around 3 pm, so it's too early for me to lay down to sleep.  I decide to sit at the end of the sofa and start my new book, thinking, it will either wake me up or lull me into slumber.

After only a few pages of the introduction to "The Times," and my eyelids are becoming too heavy to lift.  I use a nearby mail envelope as a bookmark, set the book down, pull the fleece blanket up to my chin and I'm off to dream land.  If I nap while sitting, I rarely, if ever, go into a deep sleep, seeming to drift in and out of dozing but never really unaware.

Today was different.  Different in 2 ways; I was deeply asleep and when startled awake I remembered the dream.  I've remembered dreams before, immediately upon awakening, but if I don't immediately get up and write it down (poems come to mind here,) In just moments it will be unrecoverably gone from my memory.

Most of my dreams are a conglomeration of people and places out of sync with reality but not so much as to be unbelievable. to wit:  I'm in the nurse's lounge at Hepburn hospital.  I'm on break, relieved from a case in room seven where I'd been administering an anesthetic for a few hours.  I'm tired and hungry.  Looking in the mini-fridge I see what, at first, appears to be a bagel sticking out of a paper bag.  When I reach in to pull out a bagel, a 2-foot longish bagel like item, softer than a bagel but otherwise bagel like comes out.  I'm now ravenous.  While I'm rapidly stuffing my mouth, the back door to the lounge opens and in comes Tammy Demers along with another women and young girl (think 6 or 7,) all carrying bags full of Christmas packages.

After the little girl asks me why my eyes are closed and I'm, only then, aware that they are, Tammy walks to the other side of the lounge and sits down on a 2-seat sofa.  I turn to talk to Tammy, desperate now to open my eyes.  The unknown woman and little girl disappear.  The harder I try to open my eyes the tighter shut they become, while Tammy converses with me nonchalantly, asking what the case is I was doing before break.

Of a sudden, shrieking, screaming and a sense of gnashing teeth pierce the air.  I'm frantic now to open my eyes and at a loss to locate where from the terrify sounds are emanating from.  

Slowly, as I leave the dream state but still pondering confusedly where are the screams coming from, I'm suddenly fully awake, eyes sprung wide open, ears acutely aware of the horrific screaming which now appears to be coming from just outside my kitchen door.  And just as I'm rising from the sofa to investigate who is being attacked outside my door, I recognize the radio announcers voice over Alexa describing a new apoplectic movie which is about to come out.

When our mind blends the dream world with the real world the results can seem bazaar.

Saturday, November 04, 2023

Serendipity in Maine


I don't write here much anymore.  Actually, I don't write much anywhere unless you count Facebook posts.  Which are usually merely comments or short missives to describe a posted photo.  Hard to call yourself a writer when you don't write.  So here goes:

You may or may not know, because I didn't publish it, that my wife of 54 years left me 2 years ago tomorrow to live with her boyfriend.  While in Florida, they cohabitate just a block away from our once shared Florida home.  A daily reminder if you know what I mean.

The night before her departure she asked me if there was anything that I would like to do with my remaining years that I haven't done; unfinished bucket list and all that.  I replied, after a few minutes' reflection on my endeavors, travels, and accomplishments spanning 76 years, no, not really.  I was naive as to the reasoning for this question, but in less than 24 hours I understood the motive behind her query.  "Move on with your life!"

Feeling abandoned, embarrassed, angry and confused, it took me more than a few days to come to grips with my new situation, but sooner than I would have guessed, I began to mine my memory banks for things to do that I'd surrendered, for one reason or another.

Some years ago, we'd started making plans for a trip to Maine together with our neighbors, Kelly and Jeff. Then, out of the blue, for reasons I can only speculate on, Diane, my wife, put the kibosh to that endeavor.  

Thus, I decided to travel to Maine in June of the upcoming summer, by myself, and see what I'd missed.  I consulted with a Florida neighbor, hailing from Maine and my best friend, Leigh, from New York, who'd graduated medical school in Maine, for a list of must-see attractions on my trip to Maine.  With that list in hand, and the advice of my neighbor, Diane, not my wife Diane, who suggested I make a homebase in Bar Harbor, Maine and take day trips from there to see places on my list, and eventually travel south to Portland and do the same from there.

Saturday, June 11th, 2022, I set out by car, crossed the border into Canada via the Ogdensburg international bridge with the intent to traverse, easterly, along highway 401 across Ontario and Quebec (highway 1) into Maine and across to Bar Harbor.  It's the shortest route from my home as I explained to the immigration officer at the Canadian border.  Reading highway signs in french, once in Quebec, was a challenge. I relied on my Garmin GPS to guide me and unfortunately, she was determined to exit Canada and go through Vermont.  That's a tale for another post.

I ended up spending the night in Bethel, Maine which, serendipitously, afforded me the chance to visit some unplanned destinations on my way to Bar Harbor, on the 12th of June: The Bethel Sugar Shack, the Salt & Pepper and sugar too restaurant for breakfast, (suggested by my friend Leigh when I called him to tell him I was in Bethel.)  BTW the Salt & Pepper is not in Bethel and the winding rural road trip there is another story, and ending up at 1042 at the LL Bean store in Freeport, Maine.  At 1510, I checked into my motel, Port Inn, in Bar Harbor.

After checking in, unpacking and getting settled I perused some brochures, provided by the motel, and made some reservations for a couple of excursions before setting out, on foot, to reconnoiter the picturesque village of Bar Harbor:  1. Nature Cruises aboard the Acadian, 2. OLI'S TROLLEY, and 3. a day cruise aboard the four masted schooner, Margaret Todd.

On Wednesday, June 15th, I walked a couple miles to Agamont Park at the foot of Main Street overlooking Frenchman's Bay to take in the breathtaking views of the park, the harbor, in particular the Schooner Margaret Todd at dock and just meditate on my serendipitous good fortune.

              Knowing me and my penchant for photography, you may be wondering by now, why there are no pictures of my travels in this post.  Believe you me I have dozens of pictures, all on my phone, and I haven't figured out, yet, how to transfer them to my laptop.

Sitting on one of the many park benches, taking in the early morning, just shortly after sunrise, vista, a middle-aged looking women approached me and asked if she could share my bench.  "Of course," I replied, after which she sat down beside me and without further talk, sat staring out over the Bay as was I.  After 5 minutes or so, she said. "Isn't this a beautiful morning?"  to which I offered, "It doesn't get any better than this."  Within, no more than a minute, 2 at the most, she turned toward me, with tears slipping down her cheeks, saying "do you mind if I share something with you?"  I nodded in the affirmative and she continued, to the best of my recollection, "My father recently passed away after years of suffering from Alzheimer's, I visited him daily and would wheel him out to the lawn outside the nursing home, where he spent his last days, to bask in the sunshine.  On one of those days shortly before he passed, he remarked, unusual for him to speak at all, ""it doesn't get any better than this.""  Chokingly, with tears now streaming down her face, she said, "Thank you for giving me back my daddy for just a moment!"  And then she got up and strolled slowly out of the park.

If, after reading this far, you'll indulge me to back up a day to June 14th, 2022.  And the actual reason for this post on serendipity; the gift of finding valuable or agreeable things not looked for.

It's a bright, sunny, low 70s morning as I climb aboard the Oli's Trolley to embark on a 4-hour narrated tour with 30-minute stops for walks and photos.  The scheduled stops are Cadillac Mountain, Sier de Monts Spring, Thunder Hole, and Jordan Pond.  The trolley is full, primarily with couples.  There is one empty seat behind the first seat behind the driver/narrator, occupied by an unaccompanied woman.  

I will not clutter up this post with an account of all and everything we saw and did except to say that our driver/narrator was exceptionally well informed and an extremely entertaining storyteller, because I want to skip to Jordan Pond and the by chance circumstance stroll with the unaccompanied woman in the seat in front of me.  

Although I did not learn the unaccompanied woman's name until later, I'll introduce you to her now so that I can refer to her by her name and not the unaccompanied woman, Freda Iverson. 

                                            Google photo

Freda and I found ourselves at the above pictured shore of Jordan Pond looking across at the two centered hills/mountains called north bubble and south bubble or simply, the Bubbles.  BTW, this was the first time on the tour that Freda and I found ourselves alone together after two hours of sightseeing.

To the left of this photo is a hiking trail, probably Bubbles Nubble Loop, to which Freda suggested we explore.  It was an easy trail to hike, at least for as long as we were on it.  We learned later that the hike around the pond is 1 to 2 hours.  The conversation flowed easily between us, we having many things in common, particularly hiking and exploring the out of doors.  After 15 minutes or so of hiking and remembering that the tour stop is only 30 minutes long, Freda wondered out loud if I thought we could make it all the way around the pond.  I said, "for sure we could make it, but we'd probably miss the Trolley." We decided to turn around and scurried back to the parking area where the trolley was parked with a few minutes to spare. To be honest, when we arrived, our fellow tourists were already beginning to board.  We, Freda and I, had no further interaction for the remainder of the tour.

After debarking the trolley back at the station, I proceeded to Stewman's downtown lobster pound restaurant to indulge in my first ever lobster meal. I mention this only to serve as a reference point later.

                                               Google photo

Later that day, I wandered down to the harbor to investigate where I would have to go the next morning to board the schooner, Margaret Todd.


As I'm strolling down the street, about 1/2 mile from the wharf, I hear someone call my name. I turn to my right to see Freda crossing the street approaching her hotel which I coincidently just happened to be passing.  What are the chances?  Dare I say it yet again? "Serendipity."

She was returning from doing some shopping and inquired what I was up to, and I told her I was scouting out the area to determine where I was to board for my cruise, the next day.  She mentioned that she too would be taking the Lighthouse, Wildlife & Acadia National Park Cruise the next day.  I informed her that I had taken that cruise on the 13th but mine had left from a port a couple miles outside of Bar Harbor. She said her tour would embark from a dock in the downtown area.

That's it. 5-minute conversation at the most. and off we go our separate ways.

June 15th. 0700.  I'm on my way to the pier where the Margaret Todd schooner awaits.  I'm early.  As I'm approaching Stewman's Lobster Pound, I pass the ramp, adjacent, that leads down to the dock where a Wildlife cruise is boarding.  Glancing down the ramp, as I pass, I espy a familiar figure amongst a sizable cadre of people making their way down to board their cruise.  I call out, "Freda?"  Lo and behold the familiar figure turns around and it is indeed Freda.  Not only does she turn around, smiling from ear to ear, she scurries up to where I'm standing, at the top of the ramp to engage.  While we're chatting, a crew member approaches from the lower end of the ramp to ask Freda if she intends to board. she replies yes and turning to me, suggests we have lunch together after our respective cruises.  Determining that both of our cruises finish at noon we agree to meet on the Stewman's deck, and we'll decide then where to eat.  She scampers down the ramp so as not to keep them waiting and I make my way to my destination.

Debarking after my morning cruise on the Margeret Todd, I stroll up to Stewman's downtown lobster pound to find Freda sitting on the deck checking her phone.  When asked, she replied that she had only been waiting about 5 minutes.  She mentions a lunch destination she's discovered on Cottage Street but is unsure how to get there.  I think I know the place, thinking I must have walked by it many times on my walks to breakfast.  We walk to where I suspect she's referring to and when she sees the sign, A Slice of Eden, she recognizes this as the place she has in mind.  After ordering our wraps, (she offers to pay the tab,) we go to the seating area to wait for our order to be called.

The conversation soon turns to marital status.  She relays that she is widowed.  I explain that I'm married but my wife has recently left me to live with another man.  Freda is an expert listener.  She sympathizes with my situation since her daughter has recently divorced.  Our conversation flows easily without any pregnant pauses.  In fact, we lose track of time until one of the shop's employees informs us it's closing time; they close at 2 pm.

Later that evening, I decide to wander back down to the wharf to try and capture The Margaret Todd, under full sail, returning from her Sunset cruise.  While there, I receive a Facebook message from Freda (we exchanged Facebook friend requests after our lunch at the sandwich shop) asking what I'm doing and tells me that she did the walk over to Bar Island during the low tide and thanked me for making her aware of this possibility.  She goes onto say, "I'll be leaving early in the morning to return to my friend's place in Boston, so we won't see each other again to say goodbye."  Then; "same time next year?"  I say, "sure. Have a safe trip back to Boston and California."

Over the next 10 months the only correspondence between us is birthday, Thanksgiving, and Christmas greetings via Facebook.

In late April, Freda sends me a Facebook message; Are you planning to go to Maine this year? (holy moly, I think, she was serious.) I reply, if you're going to be there, I'll be there.  At this point we exchange phone numbers and email addresses.  After discussing things to do in Maine, Freda offers to make reservations to 1. get tickets to enter Cadillac Mountain to view the sunrise and 2. to reserve seats on the Margaret Todd sunset cruise.  By now I'm using all my devices, laptop, iPad, and phone to communicate with her.  Eventually, Freda says our plans are dashed because none of the things she'd tried to schedule were open until the end of May.
She goes on to ask, "what were your plans for the spring if not going to Maine?"  I said, "I'm going to Mystic Connecticut to see the sights and do research on ship building for my novel."

Freda says, "I can meet you in Mystic."

And that, my friends, is how serendipity, the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way, in Maine began.

P.S. We met in Mystic, Gaberville, California, and Morristown, NY.

                                      to be continued:


Wednesday, September 06, 2023


I've been on the receiving end of this new cultural happening called "butt-dialing" a few times.  It's usually from a work friend and it's always happened while he's cutting firewood with a chain saw so that when I'm yelling hello into my phone, he cannot hear me.

To my recollection, however, I don't remember ever making a butt-dial call myself, until a few days ago.

Returning home from my daily walk, about 3 blocks from home, in front of the law office at about 11:30 AM I hear a voice saying: Bob, Bob, BOBBB!  I look around, up and down Main Street and at the moment our village Main Street is devoid of humankind.  You can imagine, I'm befuddled and unable to identify where from someone is calling my name until I realize the voice is emanating from my left wrist!

Having recently purchased a new Samsung tracking watch and having never heard it talking to me before, I tentatively raise my wrist to my face and stutteringly say hel, hell, Hello?  In reply I hear my sister's frantic voice asking if I'm ok?  I said "yes, I'm fine, just finishing up my morning walk, why?"

She had received a call from my phone and when she answered it, she only heard a rustling sound which she interpreted as gurgling, gasping attempts at speaking and she wondered if I'd had and accident, stroke, or some mishap and was calling for help.  Getting no discernable reply, she texted my daughter who in turn texted me and receiving no reply responded that I wasn't answering her texts. (My daughter and sister live a 4 hours' drive, in opposite directions,) from my home.

Finally, my old age hearing and novice at technology brain figured out what was happening, and we got everything cleared up.  She asked me if there was anyone, neighbor, friend, or otherwise, nearby my home that she could call in case of a repeat pocket-dial or, heaven forbid, a true emergency?

Half glibly, half truthfully, I said all my old friends, and neighbors have moved away or died.

Finally, I did provide her with my neighbor's phone number, after clearing it with my neighbor.

A humorous vignette yet one fraught with serious warning for those of us who live alone.  You need a contact person who can check on you when questions arise about your welfare.

Saturday, July 08, 2023

Strange pick-ups; truth is stranger than fiction.

I was a hot sultry Friday evening in early July, and I was sauntering the block and a half down Main Street to the Iron Horse Grill for supper; around 5 O'clock.

As I was just arriving at the corner of the Iron Horse building, an older appearing woman was exiting her just parked car even with my position.  She flashed me a toothy smile and said "hello."  I returned the smile, while searching my memory bank for recognition of her face, I came up blank.  Still, thinking to myself, "she does look familiar enough that I might know her but just can't place her at the moment."

I walked down the driveway to meet her, (not wanting to appear rude or embarrassed that I couldn't recall her or her name,) and as she reached out to embrace me while saying, "we finally made it." In my usual, slow on the up-take state of mind, I interpreted that to be a referral to herself and, perhaps a husband, having just returned to the north country after being away.  Still hoping that recognition would come to me, I returned her embrace and we walked together to the entrance of the restaurant chatting easily about the village and how the restaurant came to be.

Ushering her ahead of me through the two entry doors I said, "you go ahead while I make sure to close the doors as requested by the management's sign placed on the inner door because of the air conditioning."  She said, "oh good, I'm glad they have air conditioning." and went into the restaurant proper and stopped to wait for me to follow.  Which I did and surveying the surroundings I noticed a man sitting at a table by himself, and thought to myself, "this must be her companion."  In the few steps that it took me to reach her side, the owner/manager, Mark, approached her and asked her "are you two together?" When she responded in the affirmative, he asked if "we" wanted a table, or would we sit at the bar looking at me for an answer since I usually sit at the bar.  I responded, "I'll sit at the bar like I usually do."  She nodded and said, "that's fine."

My mind is still discombobulated about the situation, but the fear of embarrassment deepened, and I continued to "play along," hoping time and conversation would clear the muddled thoughts in my mind.  at the same time, I glanced over at the man sitting alone and a nagging suspicion gnawed at me that something here is not quite right.

Be that as it may, I pulled out a bar stool for her to sit on and took the adjoining stool.  The bar tender, Holly, approached us with menus and asked what we would like to drink.  I ordered a Tangueray gin and tonic tall, and the woman (notice, I still haven't gotten her name) ordered a white wine.  Conversation flowed easily between us, evaluating the menu choices, and exploratory chit chat.  Holly returned to give us our drinks and ask for our food order.  I said I'd have the Ruben and my {companion} ordered the hamburger.  Holly asked, "Bob, is this all on one bill?"  Before I could answer, although I did nod my head in the affirmative, The woman said to Holly, "what did you call him?" and Holly replied, "Bob, that's his name!"

The woman looked at me and asked, "what is your name?" flushed with embarrassment, (realizing the cat is now out of the bag) I said, "Bob."  To which she said, " You told me that your name was Ed!"  I replied, "I never told you, my name."  At this point the situation has become crystal clear to me.  I turn around and address the man alone (previously noticed by me) at the table just behind us, and asked, "is your name Ed?"  With a broad grin on his face he answered, "yes, it is."

Addressing them both, I said "it seems a misunderstanding has occurred allowing me to be your unintended stand in!"

She joined him for their date, and I returned to my supper and joined Holly in a laughing response to " nobody will believe this story." The entire staff found this event quite amusing.  That is the fastest pick-up and dump I've ever had!

When Holly brought me my check later, I pointed out that she hadn't removed the lady's hamburger and wine from the bill, which she promptly corrected, and we laughed anew.