Suzanne and I will never kiss

Let me say, at the outset, that I am not a big fan of entertainment news and celebrity gossip. Who they are, how they live, and what they do, just doesn't matter all that much.

But when I was a kid, there were certain actresses that I always found attractive. I didn't know why I did. I only knew that when they were on-screen, I felt funny, the good kind of funny. The crush kind of funny. I don't think I ever voiced it much back then. Certainly not to my friends. They would be merciless in their ridicule. Maybe I told my mom, I don't recall. I probably insulted everyone else on screen and gave a noncommittal grunt of acknowledgement regarding the actresses that I loved.

There were a handful that kindled these feelings. The list included Debbie Reynolds, Stefanie Powers, Julie Newmar, maybe Claudia Cardinale. But the one that was never in doubt for me was Suzanne Pleshette.

When I was a kid, she was Emily Hartley, the wife of Bob on The Bob Newhart Show. Her humor was dry and sarcastic and she had that gravelly voice. Some of the best scenes were when she and Bob had conversations as they prepared for and got in bed. Her character served as the psychiatrist's psychiatrist. One of the great episodes featured a story where Emily outscores Bob on an IQ test. I've got to go to Netflix and find that one.

Oh, I just found a picture of Emily. See what I mean? How could an 8 year old not fall for her?

So what is this post about then? Well, Suzanne, as you probably have heard, died this past weekend. I know people die. Yet you can't help taking for granted that people will be around. Especially those that are imprinted in your psyche.

No, I do not and did not obsess about her. I'm talking about an image or idea of someone that is stamped into your thoughts and memories, whether you knew them personally or not.

I've been lucky enough to only lose grandparents so far. The toughest loss being my maternal grandfather when I was 16. Even then, it took about three years before it really hit me that he would never be back. Until that time, it felt like we were just apart. I was in the military. All that I had to do was to go home on leave and there he would be sitting on the couch talking about the news or music. You know, I think I've written about this before. I'll stop.

The key thing is, I just turned 44. I can remember when my grandfather turned 50. More often now, we'll be dealing with irretrievable losses until someday, I become one for someone else. I'm thinking that I would rather have memories. Memories of the people and the times we shared.

I'll always have my memories of walking to the corner store or the barbershop with my grandfather, of watching him play the banjo or casually bend bottle caps between his fingers (he loved RCs,) of hearing him call my grandmother "Lindy" (her name was Linda) and my mother "Rene" (her name is Irene) and of helping him mow the lawn and how he would get so upset if you took his photograph without letting him pose.

I wish I could talk to him today, if only to tell him how lucky I was to have him around.

And Suzanne Pleshette and I will never kiss. It isn't that I thought we would, it's that I thought there'd always be the chance.