If I wanted to be cool, it only made sense to go outside.
It's not like it wasn't a hot evening when I headed to Scuffletown Park for music, but it sure wasn't 90 degrees, which is what the thermostat read in my apartment when I left. Considering the afternoon high had been 95, the appeal of being outside where it was more like mid-80s and occasionally breezy was wildly appealing.
Despite hoping that the unpleasant heat would make tonight's turnout smaller than usual so I could score a bench close to the band, no such good fortune. I mean, I did luck into a bench but not one of the close ones, which was nonetheless good news since I'm just not willing to sit on the brick walkway like so many late arrivals do.
A band I didn't recognize was doing sound checks when I got there, but after a minute of testing vocals, the singer announced that they'd start playing in four minutes. Not five, four and if that sounds random, it's not. Part of the beauty of Sunsets at Scuffletown is that they begin exactly 30 minutes before sunset (so the start time changes every week) and end, more or less, as the sun sets.
Poetic, isn't it?
That said, the problem with being on a bench midway back in the park is that's hard to hear everything said or sung in the front. Oh, I heard the organizer announce, "Tonight we're counting down to sunset with (mumble, mumble)." So while I have no clue who the band was, I can tell you they had a lead singer, a horn section, a bassist, drummer and a couple of back-up singers.
Meanwhile, the two young women on the bench next to me never even looked up because they were so busy doing a sheaf of shared crossword puzzles from the time they sat down to when the show ended.
I'm going to assume they just wanted live background music for their word play.
Then the lead singer took the mic and announced that, "We're gonna do one long piece of music for the whole time," before the band launched into a comfortable jazz-inflected groove enlivened by strong vocals, not to mention the sheer pleasure of hearing horns played outdoors. It didn't hurt that a decent breeze kept stirring, moving the stale air around as the musicians played on, looking hotter and hotter.
Their salvation is that these shows only last half an hour, so relief is always in sight. Even so, the band members were passing around water bottles throughout the show attempting to cool down.
When their set ended, I made a beeline for the front because I'd seen my friend Xtina come in and sit down on the brick walkway just as the show was starting. Next to her was the Minimalist, whom I've known almost as long. As people were packing up to leave, we three sat down on a bench for a good girlfriend gab session.
Since both of them are introverts, they were congratulating each other on having forced themselves to leave the house and be among people. I told them Pru, also an introvert, refers to this as "peopling" and avoids it, causing them to nod in understanding.
Like me, they both work at home, though this extrovert has no problem seeking out humans on a nightly basis. That discussion led us straight to Myers Briggs and how enlightening it is understand the people in your life that way.
Talking about how we structure our work days at home, I mentioned that I always do my walk as soon as I finish breakfast because it's such a great prelude to whatever I have to do. The Minimalist was fascinated and both said they always feel obligated to jump right into work first thing in the morning.
Take it from someone older and wiser, ladies, you'll get over that.
But after hearing me describe the unique pleasures of beginning every day by the river with the sounds of the falls and rushing water, the Minimalist sweetly asked, "Do you mind if I steal your walk habit?" and asked for suggestions on how to get to the river from her (minimalist) house.
That's when Xtina piped up, telling us she had a vitamin D deficiency, so her doctor had prescribed a daily sun bath of 20 minutes. Although it sounds like something a Victorian doctor would prescribe for a woman recovering from the vapors, I love what a simple Rx it is. She puts on short shorts, pulls up her shirt to expose her midriff and soaks it in.
I recall my doctor complimenting me when she determined I didn't have a vitamin D deficiency - apparently it's pretty common in women - but it's tough to walk outside daily and not soak it up, whether you mean to or not.
So we sat there as the light faded, as two guys got into a shouting match and decided to take it to the streets and as others continued to sit on their blankets to finish their beverages before heading home, talking about the men in our lives, how the scene has changed since we first met and how much more confident we've all gotten as we get older.
By the time we parted company, we felt energized for having run into each other and talking for an hour, plus cooler than when we'd arrived at the park.
I'd like to say that I got home to find my thermostat had dropped, but you don't earn a $28 electric bill that way. Fact is, summer's supposed to be hot, it's healthy to sweat and there's no better time to walk through sprinklers like I did this morning. This is my time of year, so I don't want to hear how miserable you are.
I'm in good company on this one. No one says it better than the Bard: "Summer's lease hath all too short a date."
Sigh. Don't remind me.
Showing posts with label girlfriends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label girlfriends. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 3, 2019
Monday, November 19, 2018
Ladies Who Brunch
Except for having to explain what a fern bar was to one of my girlfriends, we chose the ideal spot to reconvene after a year.
As for how three long-time friends who'd met through a shared love of music could let a year go by without breaking bread, well, I blame myself. Between my low period and the whirlwind of meeting my match, I'd not been pushing for get-togethers like I used to.
No surprise, today's overdue brunch happened because of music, too. Earlier this week, I'd heard from Xtina after she'd spotted me at a show and we'd decided a rendezvous was in order. Naturally we folded in Em, which made running into her Friday night even more unlikely.
Surely my moon must be in the seventh house or something.
These two always defer to me about picking where to eat and though I tried to suggest our usual place, 821 Cafe, they were hankering for something new to them. That was simple enough because neither had been to Laura Lee's, a shame given the fabulous food and decidedly female vibe, and it took no time for Em to jump on making a reservation.
Good thing, too, because the place was mobbed by mid-day.
Walking in to find I was the last to arrive, a fact which thrilled Xtina who'd made it one of her life goals to arrive before I did at one of our dates, led to a discussion of punctuality. For most of my life, I can safely say I was always on time, but that changed a decade ago when I stopped holding myself to that standard. It was hugely liberating, a fact I shared, and both friends marveled at my willingness to go easier on myself.
"Women have such a hard time with that," Em noted. "I wish I could relax about it." Give it a decade or so, my dear, and see if you don't soften all kinds of self-imposed rules.
I watched as they ogled the joint and made suitably appreciative comments about the decor: the soft green curved banquettes, the beguiling art that doubled as sound baffles, the glass garage door that let in loads of November sunlight.
Then I explained to the young 'un that bars were once bastions of male dominance, news to her. So I shared that fern bars were created in the happenin' days of the sexual revolution in the '70s as a means to attract young, single women to drink in public, something many had been reluctant to do - more likely explicitly forbidden to do by their mothers - in seedy, smokey dives full of men.
The ones I remember from the '80s were indeed full of ferns, along with Tiffany lamps, plenty of brass railings and as many women as men, so it never occurred to me that bars hadn't always been crowded by both sexes. Fast forward to the 21st century and Laura Lee's nods to the fern bar Version 2.0, combining the best of what originally set those bars apart with a more contemporary sensibility.
Of course they were enchanted once they knew the history and, as the senior member of this trio, it's my job to inform them.
First on the conversational docket was the development of Xtina's stage presence, a subject brought up because Em had recently seen Xtina's band perform and had been wowed at how much more comfortable she'd become on stage. I'd noticed myself the last few shows.
"She was dancing and wearing a crop top onstage, Karen!" Em explained, seeking to share her surprise with a like-minded friend. Who was this person inhabiting our friend's body? We reminisced how when we'd first seen her performing in a band, she'd sung and played guitar while keeping her eyes closed and pretending that the audience wasn't there.
Shyness had prevented any sort of audience rapport.
But no more. Her new attitude, she said, was to have a good time and not worry about messing up a line singing or with a goofy dance step. She was far happier for letting go of unrealistic expectations.
When we finally got around to ordering, the orders broke down along party lines. Xtina got her usual huevos rancheros, while Em was a shoe-in for the enormous chocolate chip pancakes. What I really wanted was the fried chicken for two, but since I had no partner-in-yardbird, I made do with avocado toast with tomato jam, bacon and part of the biscuits we ordered for the table.
Also for the table was a hot toddy with chai spice, which arrived in a black glass that resembled the intricate designs on milk glass. We agreed that it tasted like Christmas - or Thanksgiving at the least - and Xtina especially dug the lemony warmth of it.
And while I don't need to rhapsodize about Laura Lee's biscuits, let's just have a moment for biscuits with enough fat baked into them (Em: "If they're made with lard, I don't want to know about it") that slathering butter on them isn't essential. That said, I did slather cherry jam over every available biscuit surface.
I gave props to Em (and her cute husband) for having DJ'd the Abigail Spanberger victory party - that's right, I'm friends with the brilliant woman who played Whitney Houston's "I Wanna Dance with Somebody" - and really gotten that party started. That led to her telling us about how often a guy will approach them when they're DJing together, but direct every question, whether about equipment, music choice or just DJing, directly to her husband as if she were invisible.
The struggle is real.
Much of today's extended brunch talk was about Xtina's new dating life now that she's recently out of a two-year relationship. She's torn about going forward with a nice drummer she met and looking forward to meeting up with a handsome NOLA transplant who used to live in Richmond and will be back soon. Meanwhile, we watched as our server made eye contact with her every chance he could and she debated whether or not to leave her phone number on her bill. Should she, shouldn't she, how do you know who's right for you?
It must be exhausting to be young, beautiful and single.
Of course, we couldn't dissect their lives without touching on mine, meaning I got to hear both telling me how much I deserve this new reality of mine, even if it does keep me out of the widespread circulation that used to define my life. I'm still out an awful lot, but often now it's with my biggest fan.
Which sort of makes me the poster child for hanging in there until the right person shows up. You just never know how long it'll take or how worthwhile the wait will be. Patience, not necessarily punctuality.
Try telling that to someone who doesn't know what a fern bar is.
As for how three long-time friends who'd met through a shared love of music could let a year go by without breaking bread, well, I blame myself. Between my low period and the whirlwind of meeting my match, I'd not been pushing for get-togethers like I used to.
No surprise, today's overdue brunch happened because of music, too. Earlier this week, I'd heard from Xtina after she'd spotted me at a show and we'd decided a rendezvous was in order. Naturally we folded in Em, which made running into her Friday night even more unlikely.
Surely my moon must be in the seventh house or something.
These two always defer to me about picking where to eat and though I tried to suggest our usual place, 821 Cafe, they were hankering for something new to them. That was simple enough because neither had been to Laura Lee's, a shame given the fabulous food and decidedly female vibe, and it took no time for Em to jump on making a reservation.
Good thing, too, because the place was mobbed by mid-day.
Walking in to find I was the last to arrive, a fact which thrilled Xtina who'd made it one of her life goals to arrive before I did at one of our dates, led to a discussion of punctuality. For most of my life, I can safely say I was always on time, but that changed a decade ago when I stopped holding myself to that standard. It was hugely liberating, a fact I shared, and both friends marveled at my willingness to go easier on myself.
"Women have such a hard time with that," Em noted. "I wish I could relax about it." Give it a decade or so, my dear, and see if you don't soften all kinds of self-imposed rules.
I watched as they ogled the joint and made suitably appreciative comments about the decor: the soft green curved banquettes, the beguiling art that doubled as sound baffles, the glass garage door that let in loads of November sunlight.
Then I explained to the young 'un that bars were once bastions of male dominance, news to her. So I shared that fern bars were created in the happenin' days of the sexual revolution in the '70s as a means to attract young, single women to drink in public, something many had been reluctant to do - more likely explicitly forbidden to do by their mothers - in seedy, smokey dives full of men.
The ones I remember from the '80s were indeed full of ferns, along with Tiffany lamps, plenty of brass railings and as many women as men, so it never occurred to me that bars hadn't always been crowded by both sexes. Fast forward to the 21st century and Laura Lee's nods to the fern bar Version 2.0, combining the best of what originally set those bars apart with a more contemporary sensibility.
Of course they were enchanted once they knew the history and, as the senior member of this trio, it's my job to inform them.
First on the conversational docket was the development of Xtina's stage presence, a subject brought up because Em had recently seen Xtina's band perform and had been wowed at how much more comfortable she'd become on stage. I'd noticed myself the last few shows.
"She was dancing and wearing a crop top onstage, Karen!" Em explained, seeking to share her surprise with a like-minded friend. Who was this person inhabiting our friend's body? We reminisced how when we'd first seen her performing in a band, she'd sung and played guitar while keeping her eyes closed and pretending that the audience wasn't there.
Shyness had prevented any sort of audience rapport.
But no more. Her new attitude, she said, was to have a good time and not worry about messing up a line singing or with a goofy dance step. She was far happier for letting go of unrealistic expectations.
When we finally got around to ordering, the orders broke down along party lines. Xtina got her usual huevos rancheros, while Em was a shoe-in for the enormous chocolate chip pancakes. What I really wanted was the fried chicken for two, but since I had no partner-in-yardbird, I made do with avocado toast with tomato jam, bacon and part of the biscuits we ordered for the table.
Also for the table was a hot toddy with chai spice, which arrived in a black glass that resembled the intricate designs on milk glass. We agreed that it tasted like Christmas - or Thanksgiving at the least - and Xtina especially dug the lemony warmth of it.
And while I don't need to rhapsodize about Laura Lee's biscuits, let's just have a moment for biscuits with enough fat baked into them (Em: "If they're made with lard, I don't want to know about it") that slathering butter on them isn't essential. That said, I did slather cherry jam over every available biscuit surface.
I gave props to Em (and her cute husband) for having DJ'd the Abigail Spanberger victory party - that's right, I'm friends with the brilliant woman who played Whitney Houston's "I Wanna Dance with Somebody" - and really gotten that party started. That led to her telling us about how often a guy will approach them when they're DJing together, but direct every question, whether about equipment, music choice or just DJing, directly to her husband as if she were invisible.
The struggle is real.
Much of today's extended brunch talk was about Xtina's new dating life now that she's recently out of a two-year relationship. She's torn about going forward with a nice drummer she met and looking forward to meeting up with a handsome NOLA transplant who used to live in Richmond and will be back soon. Meanwhile, we watched as our server made eye contact with her every chance he could and she debated whether or not to leave her phone number on her bill. Should she, shouldn't she, how do you know who's right for you?
It must be exhausting to be young, beautiful and single.
Of course, we couldn't dissect their lives without touching on mine, meaning I got to hear both telling me how much I deserve this new reality of mine, even if it does keep me out of the widespread circulation that used to define my life. I'm still out an awful lot, but often now it's with my biggest fan.
Which sort of makes me the poster child for hanging in there until the right person shows up. You just never know how long it'll take or how worthwhile the wait will be. Patience, not necessarily punctuality.
Try telling that to someone who doesn't know what a fern bar is.
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