Life isn't fair.
Oh, I know everyone's parents tell them that and it's one of those lessons we all learn as we move through life - the bottom of my world fell out when I was 29- but it's a cliche for a reason. Life's not fair.
Walking home today, I passed by a neighbor's house, a younger woman I first met when I moved to this apartment five years ago. At the time, my beagle and I took a lot of walks and often ran into her and her aged dog, so we would talk as we walked.
Once I lost my dog, I didn't see her nearly as much despite her living half a block away, so our chats were less frequent. So when I saw her doing a small repair on her porch as I walked by, I stopped to chat, asking her how she was.
"Okay for someone fixing my house so my sister can sell it after I die from this brain tumor," she answered casually. It never for a moment sounded like a joke.
At a time like that, words, my stock in trade, become irrelevant. There are no appropriate words when someone tells you that nine weeks ago a large tumor was found on her brain after she began having trouble deciphering words on the printed page.
Pulling back her hair, she showed me the large scar where 80-90% of it was removed in surgery. She's been going through radiation every weekday since.
Once she finishes that, they can better assess her prospects, which they're now guessing range from a few months to two years.
We talked about the irony of it, how well she's always taken care of herself, how fit she looks and feels. At one point, she stood up and spread her arms above her head, posing. "Crazy, right?"
Crazy, cruel, horrible, completely unjust.
I was curious if she planned to keep working and she already is, having gone back to the office a few weeks after surgery because she was antsy working at home.
Surely she planned to travel or indulge herself somehow? " I had an affair with a sheik when I was 21 and in Europe, so I think I'm good with Europe," she said by way of explanation.
Maybe a month at the beach just kicking back? The radiation treatments mean she has to avoid the sun, she said.
But surely you're going to do something to celebrate yourself, I insisted.
She told me about a guy at her office who'd recently shown an interest in her, even cutting out some bad habits at her urging.
Now they've made plans to go away next weekend and she seems really happy about that or as happy as a person can be knowing how short term her future may be.
Her grace and equanimity given the circumstances is downright inspirational and a slap on the back of the head to me to never take anything for granted.
You just never know what life will deal you.
Showing posts with label love life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love life. Show all posts
Sunday, June 1, 2014
Monday, March 28, 2011
Correct on All Counts
After being all kinds of busy in the best possible ways this weekend, I was very much looking forward to sharing all that in a long lunch with a good friend today.
I suggested Bistro 27 for its terrific $9 lunch and when he registered doubt, it necessitated me proving my point. Besides, it kept us in the neighborhood and I hadn't lunched there in eons.
He had never had lunch there so the enticing menu quickly overwhelmed him, delaying the meal I so desperately craved. He wanted the burger, but it was too much meat, he was tempted by the sausage salad, but couldn't commit and all the while my stomach was growling.
I put an end to his indecision by suggesting we split a Cesar salad and then share the half pound grilled ground Montana Wagyu Kobe with Cheddar and bacon burger. Mercifully, he acquiesced easily and finally.
Chef Carlos came over to tell me about his Restaurant Week menu (lamb shanks! Chorizo!) and talk about how he loves to over-deliver that week and impress people. No doubt a second Restaurant Week will make even more converts to the Church of 27.
Our salads arrived along with the food for the trio at the bar sipping Rose next to us. We were amazed to see the tiny, white-haired woman was the one who'd ordered the enormous burger, which she promptly tore into and finished (I aspire to be that 90-year old eating a half pound of meat for lunch with my Rose).
I have a friend who considers Bistro 27's burger to be the best in town and, frankly, given the tastiness of that beef, that's not a difficult case to make. We'd gotten a mixture of white and sweet potato fries, thus satisfying every salty need we could have to complement our burger.
We talked about my weekend and the surprising number of interesting guys I'd met while in DC, perhaps an indication that I needed a change of scenery.
As a matter of fact, the same friend who had rated 27's burger #1 had also told me that I would have much better luck finding a partner in a bigger city where I might find more guys with my array of interests who would see me as a catch.
Could he be right about two things, the burger and me? I can't bear to tell him because he's right about so much so often (just ask his girlfriend). But now another friend was saying almost the same thing.
And he'd been so busy offering love life advice that he'd begun his lunch assault by filling up on fries, making him unable to eat the last bite of his burger. So sad for him, but fortunate for me.
Bartender Ron handed me the dessert menu as soon as our plates were cleared. "Are you presuming I want dessert?" I asked in mock-indignation.
"I know you at least want to browse," he said knowingly. But with my lunch partner too stuffed to finish his burger, I had no dessert partner in crime and declined.
"Maybe you're finally opening yourself up," my friend said, wrapping up his analysis as we approached his house. "Maybe your luck is finally starting to gather its forces."
Gather away. Ready when you are, Luck.
I suggested Bistro 27 for its terrific $9 lunch and when he registered doubt, it necessitated me proving my point. Besides, it kept us in the neighborhood and I hadn't lunched there in eons.
He had never had lunch there so the enticing menu quickly overwhelmed him, delaying the meal I so desperately craved. He wanted the burger, but it was too much meat, he was tempted by the sausage salad, but couldn't commit and all the while my stomach was growling.
I put an end to his indecision by suggesting we split a Cesar salad and then share the half pound grilled ground Montana Wagyu Kobe with Cheddar and bacon burger. Mercifully, he acquiesced easily and finally.
Chef Carlos came over to tell me about his Restaurant Week menu (lamb shanks! Chorizo!) and talk about how he loves to over-deliver that week and impress people. No doubt a second Restaurant Week will make even more converts to the Church of 27.
Our salads arrived along with the food for the trio at the bar sipping Rose next to us. We were amazed to see the tiny, white-haired woman was the one who'd ordered the enormous burger, which she promptly tore into and finished (I aspire to be that 90-year old eating a half pound of meat for lunch with my Rose).
I have a friend who considers Bistro 27's burger to be the best in town and, frankly, given the tastiness of that beef, that's not a difficult case to make. We'd gotten a mixture of white and sweet potato fries, thus satisfying every salty need we could have to complement our burger.
We talked about my weekend and the surprising number of interesting guys I'd met while in DC, perhaps an indication that I needed a change of scenery.
As a matter of fact, the same friend who had rated 27's burger #1 had also told me that I would have much better luck finding a partner in a bigger city where I might find more guys with my array of interests who would see me as a catch.
Could he be right about two things, the burger and me? I can't bear to tell him because he's right about so much so often (just ask his girlfriend). But now another friend was saying almost the same thing.
And he'd been so busy offering love life advice that he'd begun his lunch assault by filling up on fries, making him unable to eat the last bite of his burger. So sad for him, but fortunate for me.
Bartender Ron handed me the dessert menu as soon as our plates were cleared. "Are you presuming I want dessert?" I asked in mock-indignation.
"I know you at least want to browse," he said knowingly. But with my lunch partner too stuffed to finish his burger, I had no dessert partner in crime and declined.
"Maybe you're finally opening yourself up," my friend said, wrapping up his analysis as we approached his house. "Maybe your luck is finally starting to gather its forces."
Gather away. Ready when you are, Luck.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Rainy Nights and Mondays
When Friday, Saturday or Sunday don't work out for friends to get together, there's always Monday. My friend had had the day from hell at work and I had prior commitments for every day she suggested us meeting this week and before you know it, tonight seemed like the perfect fallback.
With slim pickins for restaurants on Blue Monday, we defaulted to Lemaire. Open every day and with a guaranteed bar until midnight, it's the go-to place on off nights and times. The Discovery wine list has a nice selection of wine gems all under $30 and we always seem to find people eager to chat, so it's practically a no-brainer.
While waiting for her to arrive, a guy sat down near me and pondered what to order. I recommended the Berkshire pork chop, telling him that Paula Deen had ordered it when she'd come to Lemaire recently.
I didn't bother mentioning that they'd been out of it that day and she'd had to settle for her second choice. In any case, he took me at my word, thanking me later for steering him right on that big ole chop (enjoyed with two Dogfish 60-minute IPAs).
Another guy near him got the over-the-top barnyard burger ( sunny side up egg, bacon and duck foie gras sauce) and suggested I get a napkin and have part of it with him. Tempted as I was, I demurred. I can't share burgers with every strange man who asks.
My friend's hectic day and the rain had slowed down her arrival and by the time she sat down, she practically needed an IV for the bottle of Haras sauvignon blanc we ordered. She announced that tonight's topic was OPP (other people's problems) and proceeded to tell me some juicy ones.
I finally interrupted because while the wine was going down easily enough, I was starving. I had the hearts of romaine followed by the brandy peppercorn-dusted beef tartare with horseradish and she got the filet mignon burger with a side of black-eyed peas (the barnyard burger containing too many exotic components for her taste). Food finally!
Our bartender Mark, who had served us just a few weeks ago when we'd been in, came over to me at one point, beaming. "Beruit!" he told me with obvious satisfaction.
During my last visit, we'd had an extensive music chat and while trying to make a point, the name of the band he wanted to use as an example had escaped him. It had finally come back when he saw me and he shared it with obvious pride. Now we could finish our chat.
My friend was feeling better about her harried day after we ate, although still checking her phone far too often for my taste. We ordered the Barboursville Pinot Grigio, also off the Discovery list, and were finally getting to OLL (our love lives) when two smiling faces appeared unexpectedly next to my stool.
It was RVA's two best mixologists, Bobby from Julep and Arthur from Acacia, who'd come over to say hello and chat. I never get to see these two together (well, except at Bobby's housewarming party and that's a bit vague), so it was great fun to have them both in front of me at once.
Bobby has been promising me that he'll do a tequila tasting at Julep for months. At his high-end rum tasting a while back, customers were treated to some of the most inspired and obscure rums imaginable while Bobby cooked up delicious small plates to accompany each one.
I wanted to see the same done for my beloved tequilas and was thrilled to hear that it's finally going to happen ("Although you know more about tequila than I do," Bobby insisted.) He already has Arthur and me as confirmed guests, despite Arthur's smart-assed comment that "Tequila is the new vodka." Say it isn't so.
Once they went off to eat and watch football, my friend and I resumed our wine-fueled conversation. She's very much enjoying watching me start a process she began months ago, so I was peppered with suggestions about how to handle my new choices.
I may be out of practice, but I think I can figure it out as I go along. No fallback necessary.
With slim pickins for restaurants on Blue Monday, we defaulted to Lemaire. Open every day and with a guaranteed bar until midnight, it's the go-to place on off nights and times. The Discovery wine list has a nice selection of wine gems all under $30 and we always seem to find people eager to chat, so it's practically a no-brainer.
While waiting for her to arrive, a guy sat down near me and pondered what to order. I recommended the Berkshire pork chop, telling him that Paula Deen had ordered it when she'd come to Lemaire recently.
I didn't bother mentioning that they'd been out of it that day and she'd had to settle for her second choice. In any case, he took me at my word, thanking me later for steering him right on that big ole chop (enjoyed with two Dogfish 60-minute IPAs).
Another guy near him got the over-the-top barnyard burger ( sunny side up egg, bacon and duck foie gras sauce) and suggested I get a napkin and have part of it with him. Tempted as I was, I demurred. I can't share burgers with every strange man who asks.
My friend's hectic day and the rain had slowed down her arrival and by the time she sat down, she practically needed an IV for the bottle of Haras sauvignon blanc we ordered. She announced that tonight's topic was OPP (other people's problems) and proceeded to tell me some juicy ones.
I finally interrupted because while the wine was going down easily enough, I was starving. I had the hearts of romaine followed by the brandy peppercorn-dusted beef tartare with horseradish and she got the filet mignon burger with a side of black-eyed peas (the barnyard burger containing too many exotic components for her taste). Food finally!
Our bartender Mark, who had served us just a few weeks ago when we'd been in, came over to me at one point, beaming. "Beruit!" he told me with obvious satisfaction.
During my last visit, we'd had an extensive music chat and while trying to make a point, the name of the band he wanted to use as an example had escaped him. It had finally come back when he saw me and he shared it with obvious pride. Now we could finish our chat.
My friend was feeling better about her harried day after we ate, although still checking her phone far too often for my taste. We ordered the Barboursville Pinot Grigio, also off the Discovery list, and were finally getting to OLL (our love lives) when two smiling faces appeared unexpectedly next to my stool.
It was RVA's two best mixologists, Bobby from Julep and Arthur from Acacia, who'd come over to say hello and chat. I never get to see these two together (well, except at Bobby's housewarming party and that's a bit vague), so it was great fun to have them both in front of me at once.
Bobby has been promising me that he'll do a tequila tasting at Julep for months. At his high-end rum tasting a while back, customers were treated to some of the most inspired and obscure rums imaginable while Bobby cooked up delicious small plates to accompany each one.
I wanted to see the same done for my beloved tequilas and was thrilled to hear that it's finally going to happen ("Although you know more about tequila than I do," Bobby insisted.) He already has Arthur and me as confirmed guests, despite Arthur's smart-assed comment that "Tequila is the new vodka." Say it isn't so.
Once they went off to eat and watch football, my friend and I resumed our wine-fueled conversation. She's very much enjoying watching me start a process she began months ago, so I was peppered with suggestions about how to handle my new choices.
I may be out of practice, but I think I can figure it out as I go along. No fallback necessary.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Give a Girl a Break
Did the male half of the population get a memo yesterday to divest themselves of their womenfolk?
How could this be happening to yet another of my friends?
After an evening of comforting a friend about the unceremonious end to her relationship yesterday, I came home to this e-mail: "Seriously. Got dumped. Ice cold style."
With no more information than that, I suggested she call me today and we'd talk.
She invited me to join her as she ran some shopping errands and while my distaste for most shopping is well-known, this was all about food, the only kind of shopping I can stand.
Besides, it would give us plenty of time to discuss the dead end her relationship had suddenly reached.
She started telling me the details as soon as I got in the car and continued in the car long after we arrived at our destination.
It was easier to get the facts, just the facts, over before we got around other people.
Discussion could follow anywhere...and did.
Not surprisingly, she had a bit of a hangover, so we necessarily started with lunch.
At Sprout, she had the curried chicken salad over Manakintowne greens and I had cucumber, bacon, tomato and goat cheese over the same greens.
It's such a great time of the year for out-of-the-garden goodness and both of us were impressed with our choices.
Sprout continues to deliver on taste while making it incredibly easy to be a locavore.
Our shopping began at Costco, and we were an unlikely pair since she's so much a regular that the cashiers know her by name and it was my first time ever.
Yes, I was a Costco virgin (and, believe me, only gave it up for a really good friend).
We already knew that this would be the least enjoyable part of the trip, so we made short work of her list and got out of there.
Tan-A Market was our second stop and here we lingered, admiring all the colorful cans, so many containing unfamiliar foods and ingredients.
My friend commented that if she had open-front cabinets, it would be here that she'd stock up on unusual canned goods for their visual presence and only afterwards figure out what dishes to use them in.
I could see the beauty of her offbeat plan.
Finally we got to Bodega Latina, partly to shop and partly to eat again.
The music was awesome; I commented on how much I was liking it and she said, "Don't you wish you knew Spanish so you'd know what they're singing?"
Kind of, but the music was interesting enough without comprehension. Surely they couldn't be singing about anything bad.
We were there for Mexican Cokes and pupusas revueltas (thick corn tortillas, chicharron, loroco queso and frijol) with curtido (fermented cabbage slaw with red chiles).
You'd think we hadn't just had lunch a couple of hours previously.
Actually, you'd be closer to the truth to guess that I'm not used to all that shopping and she was still sopping up last night's hurt.
I loved the pupusas, but next time, when I haven't already eaten, I'll definitely go for the tongue tacos (self-deprecating headline to follow).
Much like last night, I could offer little advice, only an empathetic ear for a friend who has been hurt.
If I knew the answer to getting over a relationship, I'd be practicing it myself.
She complimented me on my ability to maintain such a positive outlook when so much has not worked out in my own life the past year and a half.
As I pointed out to her, the alternative is pretty unappealing.
Compartmentalize, put a smile on your attitude and move forward.
And don't hesitate to resort to extra lunches and long talks with friends when necessary.
And for the rest of you guys who got that dumping memo, please rip it up.
You're making my friends really sad.
Not to mention putting me in a position where I have to go to (eww!) meat markets and (egads!) shopping in the name of offering support.
It's nowhere near as bad as being dumped, but it's not easy, either.
How could this be happening to yet another of my friends?
After an evening of comforting a friend about the unceremonious end to her relationship yesterday, I came home to this e-mail: "Seriously. Got dumped. Ice cold style."
With no more information than that, I suggested she call me today and we'd talk.
She invited me to join her as she ran some shopping errands and while my distaste for most shopping is well-known, this was all about food, the only kind of shopping I can stand.
Besides, it would give us plenty of time to discuss the dead end her relationship had suddenly reached.
She started telling me the details as soon as I got in the car and continued in the car long after we arrived at our destination.
It was easier to get the facts, just the facts, over before we got around other people.
Discussion could follow anywhere...and did.
Not surprisingly, she had a bit of a hangover, so we necessarily started with lunch.
At Sprout, she had the curried chicken salad over Manakintowne greens and I had cucumber, bacon, tomato and goat cheese over the same greens.
It's such a great time of the year for out-of-the-garden goodness and both of us were impressed with our choices.
Sprout continues to deliver on taste while making it incredibly easy to be a locavore.
Our shopping began at Costco, and we were an unlikely pair since she's so much a regular that the cashiers know her by name and it was my first time ever.
Yes, I was a Costco virgin (and, believe me, only gave it up for a really good friend).
We already knew that this would be the least enjoyable part of the trip, so we made short work of her list and got out of there.
Tan-A Market was our second stop and here we lingered, admiring all the colorful cans, so many containing unfamiliar foods and ingredients.
My friend commented that if she had open-front cabinets, it would be here that she'd stock up on unusual canned goods for their visual presence and only afterwards figure out what dishes to use them in.
I could see the beauty of her offbeat plan.
Finally we got to Bodega Latina, partly to shop and partly to eat again.
The music was awesome; I commented on how much I was liking it and she said, "Don't you wish you knew Spanish so you'd know what they're singing?"
Kind of, but the music was interesting enough without comprehension. Surely they couldn't be singing about anything bad.
We were there for Mexican Cokes and pupusas revueltas (thick corn tortillas, chicharron, loroco queso and frijol) with curtido (fermented cabbage slaw with red chiles).
You'd think we hadn't just had lunch a couple of hours previously.
Actually, you'd be closer to the truth to guess that I'm not used to all that shopping and she was still sopping up last night's hurt.
I loved the pupusas, but next time, when I haven't already eaten, I'll definitely go for the tongue tacos (self-deprecating headline to follow).
Much like last night, I could offer little advice, only an empathetic ear for a friend who has been hurt.
If I knew the answer to getting over a relationship, I'd be practicing it myself.
She complimented me on my ability to maintain such a positive outlook when so much has not worked out in my own life the past year and a half.
As I pointed out to her, the alternative is pretty unappealing.
Compartmentalize, put a smile on your attitude and move forward.
And don't hesitate to resort to extra lunches and long talks with friends when necessary.
And for the rest of you guys who got that dumping memo, please rip it up.
You're making my friends really sad.
Not to mention putting me in a position where I have to go to (eww!) meat markets and (egads!) shopping in the name of offering support.
It's nowhere near as bad as being dumped, but it's not easy, either.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Tales of Love at Kenn-Tico
In the past three weeks, three close friends who, like me, have been uninvolved for quite a while have found themselves not so single anymore. It's almost like there's a bug going around and everyone around me is catching it. Except, of course, that it's a good bug because they're all incredibly happy.
The latest love story I heard about at lunch today. A friend and I had made plans previously to have lunch today and do something fun afterwards. But this morning he'd called and changed it to just lunch, saying that he was beat because he hasn't been sleeping well the past few nights.
Concerned, the first thing I asked him when he picked me up was why he wasn't sleeping. That's when I learned of his recent whirlwind romance with all the accompanying benefits, including late nights and little sleep. He was also, I might add, grinning ear to ear. As soon as we finished eating, he intended to take a nap to make up for lost sleep. How cute is that?
Fortunately he still felt up to eating (or maybe just needed to replenish his energy expenditures) so we decided to try the new Cuban place on Grace Street. Kenn-Tico. We weren't the only ones by any means; the place welcomed a steady stream of customers during the hour and a half we were there. The decor was simple with a huge panoramic picture of Havana's harbor; we took a window table to enjoy the street theater and the harbor view.
With a Cuban place, I think you have to start by assessing their pork before trying anything fancier. Accordingly, I started with the Pan con Lechon, marinated slow-roasted pork, pulled from the bone with grilled onions on hot Cuban bread. My friend couldn't resist the allure of pig three ways, so he got the Cubano Especial with sliced pork, ham, Chorizo, mustard and pickles. Both came with a mound of shoestring fries.
My pork was nicely done but the huge sandwich was more than I could manage. My love-struck friend only finished half of his, too, He had thoughtfully carved off a sample of his and placed it in my basket, saying, "I know how you love Chorizo." It was decadent with all that pig, so of course I liked it. When it was boxing-up time, I donated my remaining half to my friend.
With all the new activity and late nights of his recent love life, the man needs to keep up his stamina. I'm happy to contribute to the cause.
I may not be ready for a love life, but clearly he is. That's a cause I'm happy to get behind.
The latest love story I heard about at lunch today. A friend and I had made plans previously to have lunch today and do something fun afterwards. But this morning he'd called and changed it to just lunch, saying that he was beat because he hasn't been sleeping well the past few nights.
Concerned, the first thing I asked him when he picked me up was why he wasn't sleeping. That's when I learned of his recent whirlwind romance with all the accompanying benefits, including late nights and little sleep. He was also, I might add, grinning ear to ear. As soon as we finished eating, he intended to take a nap to make up for lost sleep. How cute is that?
Fortunately he still felt up to eating (or maybe just needed to replenish his energy expenditures) so we decided to try the new Cuban place on Grace Street. Kenn-Tico. We weren't the only ones by any means; the place welcomed a steady stream of customers during the hour and a half we were there. The decor was simple with a huge panoramic picture of Havana's harbor; we took a window table to enjoy the street theater and the harbor view.
With a Cuban place, I think you have to start by assessing their pork before trying anything fancier. Accordingly, I started with the Pan con Lechon, marinated slow-roasted pork, pulled from the bone with grilled onions on hot Cuban bread. My friend couldn't resist the allure of pig three ways, so he got the Cubano Especial with sliced pork, ham, Chorizo, mustard and pickles. Both came with a mound of shoestring fries.
My pork was nicely done but the huge sandwich was more than I could manage. My love-struck friend only finished half of his, too, He had thoughtfully carved off a sample of his and placed it in my basket, saying, "I know how you love Chorizo." It was decadent with all that pig, so of course I liked it. When it was boxing-up time, I donated my remaining half to my friend.
With all the new activity and late nights of his recent love life, the man needs to keep up his stamina. I'm happy to contribute to the cause.
I may not be ready for a love life, but clearly he is. That's a cause I'm happy to get behind.
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