Dave's primary doctor--I taught his sister back in the day, when she was a high school junior and he was a mere seventh grader. I vaguely remember seeing him as a little kid. I have not seem him since then. He and Dave used to play golf together at the Battenkill. A number of years ago, during those halcyon days, a noted artist painted pictures of the Golf Course and some of the club members, which included the doctor's then wife, offered them for sale. Marilyn spent several hundred dollars for a painting of the 6th Hole, a serenely beautiful scene, even if you're not into golf.
Somehow it fell to the doctor to deliver the painting, when it became available. Through ill fortune, I happened to be the one to answer the phone when he called for directions to our house. He was calling from his car, and I made the assumption he was driving from Greenwich, the home of the golf course. So I directed him from there. But it turned out he was calling from Cambridge, so he got lost. I can't remember how the painting finally got here: probably Dave picked it up at the Battenkill. Naturally, I felt embarrassed to have sent a doctor, of all people, on a wild goose chase. But all worked out, and hopefully was forgotten.
Today I drove Dave to his doctor's appointment, which I have been doing since the fall, on June 17. Before that, I never even went with him to his appointments, much less into the room. But a few weeks ago, I changed that and went with him into his neurologist's office, and today for the first time into his primary doctor's office.
The doctor greeted Dave and then turned to me and said he thought he remembered meeting me. Dave offered that I used to teach in Cambridge, but the doctor said that would have been when his sister was there. Then, said the doctor, he thought it might have been when he delivered a painting of the golf course.
I said, "Gulp!"
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