Charlie’s birthday weekend opened with a little party graced by the music of friends Sean and Scott and the charm of Dr. Chew’s wonderful former student Jonathan, AND the special presences of his beloved Gong Gong and Po Po. It’s ending with the boyo upstairs listening to Desmond Dekker on an I-Pad quickly and expertly reconfigured by Dr Chew after Charlie’s model was bruised amid the weekend’s only stormy moment in the local neuro-sphere, of which we each form an integral component.
I don’t yet know how to describe those moments perhaps never will avowed intent notwithstanding, and notwithstanding the lessons from Dr. Chew’s six years of daily witness over on ‘We Go With Him’: that’s how it’s done. I do know we covered fifty miles over two days and three counties on the mountain bikes, while Charlie scatted to his own variation of ‘Dis Old Man,’ crooked his ears against shoulders when ice cream truck and other sensory invaders materialized; warily eyed loose dogs before wafting past like a cool breeze; lit up overcast skies of Morris and Hunterdon with his jaunty grin. Happy birthday Dear Charlie: Happy Birthday to you, dear pal.