Tuesday morning I was headed up Route 86, almost at the Trudeau Road turnoff, when I saw blue and red lights flashing in my rearview mirror. I immediately pulled over and a few minutes later the Rescue Squad ambulance flew by.

The symbolism was painfully appropriate: Me driving to Cavu on one of its last days, with the Rescue Squad leaving me in its dust.

“Lovely,” I grumbled, “just bloody lovely.”

Breakfast has always been my main and favorite meal, which is why I don’t eat lunch, and I eat a light din. So going out for b’fast has always been a big treat. Since there’s no better breakfast than Cavu’s, I’ve eaten mine there every Sunday for the past decade. Thus driving out there is like making a pilgrimage to a shrine, only better, since aside from the food, the lighting’s better, I can talk in a normal tone of voice, and I won’t gag on clouds of incense.

When I got to Cavu, it was crowded and the mood was upbeat, as usual. But there was an underlying note of sorrow among the regulars. We’d look at each other and nod, knowing what the subtext was, but we said nothing. Then again, there was nothing left to say, since we’d said it all after we first heard the place was closing, a couple of months before. It was like being at a wake.

Of course, there are wakes … and there are wakes. If it’s for one of my contemporaries, it can be sad, maybe even mournful, but it’s not tragic. The dearly departed lived a long and hopefully fruitful life, left their mark on this Vale of Tears, and is now at peace.

If, on the other hand, it’s a wake for a young person (to me, “young” is anyone under 50) it’s always painful and often tragic — a life ended before it could be fulfilled, or in some senses, even before it truly began. The Cavu wake was somewhere inbetween.

Josh and Clair Bovee did a bang-up job running a great cafe. The food was delicious; the staff were warm and wonderful; the setting was homey. In many ways, to me it was less a restaurant than a social club. I always enjoyed my interactions, however brief, with Hustlin’ Alison Hewitt; Ethan, the silent partner; and Ms. Joy Unbounded, herself — Amy Ruledge Rattee.

Some of the regulars I’d known since childhood. Among them were Tim Moody, Bob Dora, John and Mary Peria, and Paul and Jerry Cheney. Others I’d known NOT since I was a kid, but for a long time nonetheless — Adam and Wendy Brayshaw, Bud Ziolkowski, and Paul Pillis.

Others I’d known only kinda-sorta, but developed a friendship with IN Cavu. Foremost among them are Tupper Lake’s perennial winners of their Wide-Eyed Optimist Award — La Famille Sloan.

And then there were peeps I saw ONLY in Cavu, loved chatting with, but never even learned their names.

Because the joint was always jammed, a long wait was almost always the order of the day — sometimes up to an hour. Long waits may try the patience of lesser mortals, but luckily I’m not one of them. First, I always have a book and my legal tab, so I can spend the time reading and/or writing. Matter of fact, I may have written half my columns there. Second, waiting in the hall was where I did most of my Cavu shmoozing. And third, I wait at the doc’s; I wait at the vet’s; I wait at the mechanic’s. And after the wait’s over at those places, instead of a full stomach, I’ve got an empty wallet.

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The Dope and the Yuk-Blocker

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There was one other special thing about Cavu: It posed my greatest weekly challenge: Telling Clair a joke. To be more specific, telling her a joke was not a challenge — getting her to laugh WAS.

It’s not that she doesn’t have a sense of humor — she has a fine one. She also has a laugh that runs the gamut from “booming” at its low end, to “volcanic” at its top.

But she’s the toughest audience ever. For one thing, she remembers jokes, which most people don’t. The ultimate joke amnesiacs are Joe Keegan and Bruce Young. I can tell both of them the same joke three days in a row and each time they’ll laugh their heads off. They are the joke-teller’s lowest-lying fruit. Clair, on the other hand, is the joke-teller’s worst nightmare. Tell her the same joke twice in five years, and you’ll be lucky to get a fleeting smile …and you’ll more likely get a sneer.

Beyond that, she can anticipate punchlines. All in all, she is a funnyman’s Kryptonite. Luckily for me, I collected and told jokes since childhood, so I’ve warehoused hundreds of them and I know how to deliver them. Clair, being a special case, requires special consideration. I pick my Sunday’s joke on the previous Monday, and then spend a bit of each day rehearsing it. And when I tell it to her, I make sure that I never — not even for one second — lower my guard or mess up my delivery.

So how have I done with the dear girl?

Well, anyone who knows me knows I never indulge in either false modesty or self-aggrandizement. So I’ll just say if any NFL coach had my win-loss record, he’d be pulling down at least a hundred mil a year — AFTER taxes!

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When words fail

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As I said, I went to Cavu every Sunday for years, but once I found out it was closing, I doubled and even tripled up: Sunday, of course; Tuesday, definitely; Thursday, maybe. Then, in its last week, I decided to go every day. It was, as you can imagine, an exercise in ambivalence. And all the while, either people were asking me, or I was asking myself, the same question: So once it closes, then what?

Ah, yes, what?

I had no answer, but I decided to find, if not an answer, a strategy. In other words, how was I going to approach living in a world without Cavu? I did what I often do in confusing situations: I looked to the works of Marcus Aurelius for clarification.

Marcus Aurelius was a great Roman Emperor, scholar and philosopher. The reason I like to read his stuff is because it’s direct and insightful, while avoiding any fancy-shmancy, convoluted expression or references. In other words, his stuff is just commonsense advice, clearly stated, easily understood.

I checked out his references about the future and how to deal with it and the most relevant quote I found was this: “Never let the future disturb you …”

It was perfect Marcus Aurelius — straight to the point and perfectly sensible. But it was also an oversimplification from which I found neither comfort nor guidance. It seemed that after a bunch of years of old M.A. being right on, I now found him out in left field. Or more charitably, his advice might be fine, but there was something on my part that made me fail to relate to it.

Finally, I figured out what it was.

Actually, it was two things.

One was this:

The real issue of Cavu’s closing was what Clair and Josh were going to do, and how life will work out for them. Clearly, this wasn’t about me, even though I was acting like it was. So to cut to the chase: Whatever they do, I hope they’re successful, fulfilled, and happy doing it.

The other reason I couldn’t relate to his quote? Obviously, Marcus Aurelius was a man of great intellect and insight, but what the hell did he know about breakfasts in CAVU?