Passing the Bar

I had two nice old ladies living in the house across the street from me. Their husbands had passed away years ago and they found companionship in living together. Inevitably, they both passed as well. I didn’t know them well, but I knew they both loved to sing, dance and entertain back in the day.

Their grandson and his Life Partner (nttawwt) cared for the ladies as they aged, and were the trustees of the home. They asked me if there was anything I would want before the big estate sale this past weekend. I took a look through the house that was filled with their furniture, old showbiz memorabilia and knick-knacks. Everything seemed to represent a grand old time of friends, song and laughter.

Only one piece of furniture caught my eye: the bar. Not just any bar, but an avocado green, tuck n rolled naugahyde piece of history, goddammit. A bar that has had more booze spilled on it than I’ve consumed in my newbie life as an of-age drinker.

I asked if it was up for grabs and they were thrilled that I would be interested in taking it off their hands. So they GAVE it to me. Along with 4 matching barstools. Mind you, this comes with a heavy aire of responsibility. This is where the ladies held court; entertaining guests, pouring spirits and singing show tunes into the wee hours of the morning. This isn’t “walk into Ikea and buy a bar for $99”. This is somebody’s life. I reassured them that it would be well taken care of and utilized. I don’t really have a lot of room for it, but I had to make it fit. It was my duty. Family members stopped by and expressed wishes (and concern) that I treat it kindly. Four of us then unearthed it from its roots and hoisted it across the street and up the stairs to its new home.

Thrown into the already-sweet deal was a few framed photos of old friends at said bar. I absolutely had to have them, to keep the spirits alive and happy and familiar with their new surroundings.

The ladies’ favorite cocktail was a Vodka tonic. So I will soon toast to them, with some Sinatra on the turntable, ice clinking in my glass and a smile on my face. Here’s to you, ladies. The show must go on…

In its new home:

Post-ride drinks are on me. Cheers!

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