You may have heard me mention a little jaunt I’m making, Gentle Reader, wherein I’ll be going abroad as long as I can afford it. Don’t worry; I intend to work on the road. Still, I very graciously thought I ought to mark the occasion by throwing a going-away party. My friends very graciously granted me a golden day.
It began with brunch. Darling’s mother picked me up in a red convertible; we met Darling and Ms. Capere in the Harbor, sitting outside on a deck above the water at the charming Net Shed No. 9. My dear old friends were able to find vegan and vegetarian options, respectively; I had a “Free-Ta-Ta” because that dish donates money to cancer research, and my brunch was basically saving the world. There was breakfast champagne, and our waitress put me in touch with some friends of hers in Morocco, who are building houses, in case I make my way to North Africa*.
Darling’s mother departed, and the three of us toddled off for coffee. The coffee shop where we spent our teenage years has a new name, a new proprietor, but the inside’s exactly the same. For old time’s sake, we all three ordered Chai – of course, I had milk, Capere had soy, and Darling had rice. The barista managed to keep it all straight, and we chatted until Capere had to return to her scholarly research.†
We rode into town with her; caught in traffic, we discussed the issues of the day. All three of us angry liberals, we crossly agreed about things, the direction the world’s heading in, social issues. I was glad to see that we’re all in alignment in our passions, still. Capere dropped us off on Sixth Avenue, where we promptly ran into police tape blocking access to several blocks‡.
Darling and I enjoyed a leisurely stroll, wound up in Wright’s Park. It was a golden, lazy, Sunday, and we discussed the strange new paths all our lives seem to be taking. Our little family, still close after all these years, seems to be spreading in all directions; each of us is on the threshold of something new. We’re handling similar situations in similar ways, separate, but together. It’s funny how the world works.
We wandered towards the Mix, where we weren’t due for another several hours. My favorite barman, Dallas, was smoking outside; he greeted us with a smile, said he’d be waiting when we got back. I dutifully bobbed a curtsey to the statue of St. Helen who’s been ensuring I make it home safely for years, then Darling and I went antiquing. He picked up a strand of pearls and a belt-buckle the size of Miami; the shopkeeper threw the belt in for free. Meanwhile, I fell in lust with this:
Back at the bar, we arrived early, so that I could spend some time writing while sipping a Bloody Mary, as I used to when Mimosa Sunday was a regular thing – but lo! Our first guest had arrived before us.
Stay tuned for Part Two, Gentle Reader, which will dutifully air this Thursday!
* I am replanning my itinerary, because of many, many, reasons. Morocco is a definite possibility at this point.
†Ms. Capere is a sociologist. She is currently wrapped up in a project that involves watching episodes of Duck Dynasty and similar claptrap, but for science.
‡There had been a shooting, early that morning. For details, click here.