Striding up That Hill

Out of countless quips that had me doubled over in laughter, surely this was the best line of the weekend: "Roundabout. Dig it!"

Commentary followed by directive, Yes, sir.

Since I last blogged Thursday, I've been to six restaurants - Metzger, Dinamo, Lee's, Adrift, The Walkabout and Willaby's Cafe - not including the one that shall remain nameless because I was reviewing it.

Of note was the brisket at Metzger, our kickoff to soup season at Dinamo (fish soup and matzoh ball soup) with a side of travel planning, a server named Karen at Lee's ("Open since 1939!") who referred to me as "this lovely lady," the mystery man taking notes at Adrift who wouldn't tell us why he'd come to Irvington 29 years ago or what's kept him there so long (and I asked), tequila and dancing at a dimly-lit Australian Outback-themed pub to the classic rock ramblings of Right Turn Clyde and a waterfront seat for what is still one of the best crabcakes on the Northern Neck at Willaby's Cafe.

Our only food miscalculation was in not having a slice of pie after lunch at Lee's, but I'd foolishly followed the lead of the large man in the booth next to us who, when asked about pie, patted his ample girth and declined by saying, "Nah, I think I'll save today's dessert for after dinner."

That's all well and good until an hour later when you want to kick yourself for not just going ahead and scarfing two desserts in one day.

I was supposed to have seen two movies, but "Psycho" in Chimborazo Park never happened because the organizers opted to show "Monsters, Inc." instead. Why, you wonder, especially after I'd donned fleece leggings jeans, two shirts, a sweater, gloves and a jacket had they let us down? Because "Monsters, Inc." had been the scheduled film a week earlier when Hurricane Michael blew through and they'd had to cancel. 

Judging by the crowd of couples, not families, around us, I'm going to go out on a limb and say we weren't the only ones looking forward to Hitchcock, although we were the only ones who packed up our chairs, blankets, wine, bourbon-laced coffee and took the party to Pru's porch a block away instead.

In addition to bow tie-tying lessons, it was there that Beau decided to delve into the origins of When Mr. Wright Met Karen and Pru repeatedly insisted to him, "You broke her!" when she wasn't giving a Power Point presentation about my past and my proclivities ("She would never!"). Meanwhile, the menfolk sipped single malt Scotch and those of us with no circulation mainlined Grillo while availing ourselves of the porch's heat lamps.

Beau and I weren't shy about saying yes to slices of Pru's freshly-made peach clafoutis, even if I am allergic to peaches. Moaning with pleasure as he ate, Beau also insisted it would make an ideal breakfast food when warmed, not that everyone is as dedicated to that meal as he and I are.

They must not wake up hungry every single day like I do.

What Mr. Wright and I did manage to see was "The Old Man and the Gun," purportedly Robert Redford's final acting role and a fine (and true) yarn that highlighted the excellent chemistry between Redford and Sissy Spacek while telling the story of a string of '80s bank robberies perpetrated by what became known as the "Over the Hill Gang."

The film opens with a caveat: "This movie is, also, mostly true." So while it wasn't a documentary, it at least came out of real life and we all know how much that appeals to me.

Exactly once I was mistaken for a Cubs' fan, mainly due to the over-sized sweatshirt I had on for warmth on my morning walk through Irvington. The thing is, I've learned that that logo is also an excellent tool for identifying guys from the south side of Chicago since it seems to get a sure-fire reaction in Virginia. 

At least three or four times, there was protracted discussion of indulgence and specifically, why, at this stage of life, it's perfectly fine to operate in such a mode. In other words, if you're going to mention interest in a piece of art located in a place you've never been, chances are someone is going to think it's a splendid idea to make plans to see it.

A file folder naturally follows and next thing you know, a plan is in place.

The past two weeks since we returned from Athens have been a sort of no man's land, not quite back to pre-travel status quo - witness I only walked once last week - with three road trips this week alone. I keep expecting life to settle down to something approximating normal, except I'm not exactly sure what that is anymore.

Hence the lapse in blogging.

But given how wildly happy I am, I'm not sure that I need to. It's enough to wallow in it, play catch-up with work and reading my stack of Washington Posts in between and look forward to whatever's next. Dig it?

This blog post is, also, mostly true.

The Death of Summer and Other Sob Stories

Dream it
Do it
Repeat
~ sign seen on my walk in the rain this morning

Yesterday was such a busy day that I didn't even realize Fall had arrived. No, that realization came when it was time to go to bed and I had to get out a cotton blanket for the bed. I know, I know, some people would  have just closed the windows, but I'm not one of them.

Knowing how much I had to accomplish today, I woke up at 6:45 and tried, to no avail, to go back to sleep. Finally, at 7:45, I gave up and got up despite having had nowhere near my usual nine hours of sleep. Now that I think about it, that could have had something to do with the 10 1/2 hours I'd gotten the night before, but I'll never know.

Still, I'd like it added into the record that I was awake before sunrise today. My reward was stopping by Nate's for a bagel on my walk, but the price I paid was having to listen to - wait for it - "Eye of the Tiger," "Uptown Girl" and "I'm So Excited," some of the worst '80s pablum I can recall, in succession while I waited for it.

Some sacrifices are worth it for a really good everything bagel with scallion cream cheese served to me by Nate himself in an Obama t-shirt. Suddenly, the cooler weather was tolerable, even if I did have to resort to a hoodie over my t-shirt. Mind you, still worn with shorts.

The day was a blur of writing, laundry, grocery shopping, bill paying, reading the stack of a week's worth of the Washington Post and, saddest of all, moving the beach chairs and umbrellas from the car to the basement for another year.

And, yes, there was a nap, although unfortunately it was a rain nap rather than a heat nap, but it did the trick. Thus fortified, I was ready for some culture: a one day screening of "Rebel Without a Cause" at Movieland.

And don't tell Pru, but no, I'd never seen it. Oh, the cultural gaps I still possess.

Buying my ticket, the girl behind the counter expressed incredulity. "What I wanna know is how you people even knew we were showing this movie. We didn't advertise it. It's from, like, 1955!"

You're right, honey, that is old, a fact I feel secure in saying since it came out before even I was around. As for my intel, it was Facebook that had alerted me to the TCM Classics event - in CinemaScope! and Warner Color! - and I'd promptly marked it down on my calendar.

As you might expect for a rainy, cool Sunday evening show, everyone in the theater tonight was of an age. The balding guy in front of me showed up with a David Baldacci book in one hand and a beer in the other. The couple to my left each held boxes filled with chicken fingers and fries on their lap, making for their own little Cinebistro.

Footage of TCM's Ben Mankiewicz explaining how significant the film was came first and then we were transported back to the days when high school students who got arrested at night (you know, kids who are in the pre-juvenile delinquent stage) were wearing suits, or, at the very least, slacks, vest and button down shirt and tie.

That's definitely a world I never knew.

But as every cultured person on the planet except me apparently is aware, the film takes place on the first day of school and it's not exactly picture-perfect. Knife fights, playing chicken with cars, tires being slit, a kid meeting his death driving over a seaside cliff, did all '50s high schools have a first day of school like that or was that just in California?

And don't get me started about a 2:00 field trip to the Planetarium on the first day of school, either. Impossible! When did the kids bring home the permission slips? Hello, was anyone working continuity on this film?

The seriously '50s details included our hero drinking milk from a quart glass bottle, Mom serving a fish souffle for dinner, little brother's noisy atomic ray gun and the kind of aprons that covered a homemaker's entire dress front, with an enormous bow tied in the back. The Dad, played by Jim Backus aka Mr. Magoo and Thurston Howell III, had a particularly emotive moment wearing said apron in an attempt to clean up a fallen plate of food before his shrewish wife saw the spill and berated him.

And if you think that's quaint, how about a cop responding to a kid with a gun by saying, "Come here, son," and approaching him slowly and calmly? Fiction or just plain dated, you make the call.

But I have emerged with a new appreciation for James Dean's face and physique Method acting, especially since Ben informed us that he improvised  a lot of his dialog and directed many of the scenes, including that opening one where Dean was drunk in the street and playing with the monkey toy.

Back in the days when a kid like him would be brought in to the station on "plain drunkenness." Ah, the good old days.

But what matters today isn't that I've finally seen a movie the Library of Congress deemed culturally, historically and aesthetically significant. It's that it's Fall and I'm already resorting to blankets and additional layers.

If I dream of summer, can I get a do-over and then repeat it for the rest of the year? I have it on the best authority that's how it works.

If It Weren't for Bad Luck...

...I'd have no luck at all. At least it seems that way today.

Finally exiting my abode and breathing fresh air for the first time since Christmas Eve, I put clearing the snow off my car at the top of my to-do list (wishing, of course, that I had a honey-do list instead) for my first day back in the real world.

As I moved around the car grateful for the dry texture of the snow and easy removal factor, I had an oh-no moment. One of my rear tires looked suspiciously close to flat; given that I'd just put air in all the tires before my last road trip, this did not bode well.

So my daily walk was going to be postponed while I took the car in to have the tire repaired/replaced. No biggie; I'd walk back after dropping it off and continue with my day. If only.

I didn't even get out of the garage's parking lot before taking a spill. A thin metal sign had fallen out of its frame and onto the sidewalk and, with snow and ice covering it, become like a banana peel in a comic strip. Down I went.

My feet went out from under me and as I did the grand sit-down in the icy slush, I remember thinking, "I must have plenty of padding 'cause that didn't even hurt." But while I was priding myself on my backside, my left hand had instinctively taken the fall.

If my wrist could have screamed out loud, it would have at that point. A guy driving by who'd seen my graceless descent stopped his car and asked if I was okay. "I am but my wrist hurts like hell," I told him. "Can I help you?' he kindly asked, opening his car door.

Guessing that he didn't have any dry yoga pants or a wrist splint with him, I thanked him and said no. I then gathered my soggy body and throbbing wrist as gracefully as I could under the circumstances and began the walk home, thinking that this was another fine mess I'd gotten myself in to.

I briefly considered going to have my hand x-rayed, but then did what any good 21st century klutz does and went online to research my pain.

It sounded like I had sprained it, so with my car in the shop and an ice pack on my hand to reduce swelling, I called my guardian angel to bring the truck and take me to the drug store for painkillers and a wrist support with splints. That ought to do it.

I hope.

On the minor plus side, my tire merely had a nail in it, so that was a cheap and easy fix. Leaving, Guardian Angel said something about napping and having a nice quiet evening resting my wrist.

After two days at home? It is to laugh (out loud even). I have to go out tonight for sanity's sake. I'll just have to figure out which tights will best accessorize my charcoal gray wrist support.

Fuchsia, I'm thinking.

Bruising the Moneymaker

Murphy's Law of snow, at least as it applies to me, is exactly what you'd expect.

I went for my usual four-mile walk down Grace Street yesterday, still having to navigate around mounds of crusty snow and ice.

For the first time in ages, though, there were long stretches of cleared sidewalk, but still interrupted by ice and snow piles.

No doubt as a result, there were more of my regulars out and about.

About to step off the curb over an enormous pile of icy snow, a car started honking furiously at me just as I crested the mound.

I jumped visibly, and almost lost my footing, but didn't; it was Pedro, one of my favorite waiters, who claims to see me everywhere, but never says hello.

Finally, he had.

Further up Grace, and trying to negotiate an icy patch, I hear my name shouted from across the street.

I slide a little, but don't fall, as I look up to see who it is and answer back.

When I run into him last night at Ipanema, he asks if it was that morning he had seen me.

Perhaps if I'd actually taken a dive, I'd have been more memorable.

And then there was the Crooner, the guy on the bike who always sings to me.

Only this time, he approached me from behind, singing "Hey, there, lonely girl" and almost running me off the sidewalk.

He's got to find a new theme song for me; I'm anything but lonely.

But maybe that's the only song he knows.

The point here is that despite a still-treacherous walk yesterday, I remained upright.

So why then when out walking the dog less than a block from home, did my equilibrium desert me?

The beagle was answering nature's call and in an instant, I was headed to the ground.

Somehow I managed to both twist my ankle and land on my knee.

I could feel the ice dig into my kneecap as I landed.

One frickin' block from home.

And while this probably wouldn't be a problem for most females (a girl told me last night that she has her "winter coat" on, not having shaved her legs since before Thanksgiving. TMI) at this time of year, for me it is.

I awoke to a small cut and large pink bruise forming on my knee this morning. I could wear pants to hide it, except I don't wear pants.

I could wear a skirt or dress to cover my knees, except I don't own any that long.

Looks like I'll have to resort to using opaque tights for camouflage for a while,which unfortunately eliminates some of my most fetching ones...and just before Valentine's Day, too.

Such a shame.

But isn't that how Murphy's law works?

A Sublime Fall Moment

Leaving Garnett's this morning, I headed north on Meadow to finish my walk.

The air was really crisp and leaves of all colors were ankle-deep in some places on the sidewalk.

Pumpkins, some carved and withering, some uncut and decorative sat on porches.

Others were splattered open in the street, orange guts and seeds spilling out everywhere.

But it was that moment when I got to Grace Street that everything coalesced.

The deliciously overwhelming scent of cinnamon was wafting from the C.F. Sauer warehouse at Meadow and Broad.

It was as if all my senses were saying "autumn" in unison.

I'm not even a big fan of the season and I was stopped in my tracks by the perfection of the moment.

Fall.

From the Backseat of My Life

The recent change in weather has everyone enthusiastically switching to cool-weather gear: boots, jeans, sweaters. I actually saw a VCU student in a fleece this afternoon! I, on the other hand, refuse to accept that it's time to pack away warm weather clothing. For a hot minute, I considered putting on leggings under my jean skirt before I headed out tonight, but I just couldn't do it; better to have a few chill bumps on my legs than give in to full body coverage at this point. I even wore sandals.

Of course when I arrived to meet my hot, smart companions for the evening, they looked September-appropriate: jeans, layers, a sweater. Did I feel foolish in my lighter attire? Hell no, although leaving the place a few minutes ago, I could tell the temperature was within spitting range of 60 degrees. That's why there's hearty red wine, to thicken up the blood for cooler temps when I leave skin exposed.

I do like this weather for sleeping, though. The two big windows in my bedroom let in plenty of night air and although I can't get excited about the cooler days, I find a lot to like about the cooler nights.