Last night I attended a dinner party where the guests where all about half my age. Since my daughters are in that demographic, I am not entirely unfamiliar with the ways and habits of that world, but still, it’s rare that I sit at a table and banter along with people who think it’s quaint that there was once a life without cell phones.
Ed was invited as well, but if you put Ed outdoors for several hours, then sit him down to a plate of warm and filling food, there is absolutely no chance that he will keep his eyes open after the last bite. May as well leave him home with the cat, where they can both purr at the bliss of lying on the floor undisturbed by the human kind.
The dinner was billed as a Hawaiian themed event – to chase away the blues (or, more accurately, grays) of the season and I swear the message with the invite suggested Hawaiian attire. I’m not one to dress up, but I did unearth a very colorful Mexican embroidered shirt which, at a pinch, could be regarded as tropical.
I was surprised then to see that no one gave even a nod to the Hawaiian theme. Not even the hosts. When I asked how come, they smiled indulgently, as if to say – most people know that you don’t follow goofball advice about how to dress for a dinner party.
After the dinner, I stepped outside and took in the city lights against the darkness of the lake before me. So different from when I pedal or roar past these waters in the light of the work day! I'd post a photo, but, I don’t want to end on a gloomy note. Bad enough that I have to end on a cold note.
...because this morning, Ed and I were out early scraping, painting – working hard to make progress on the east side of the house – and then, shortly after noon, just after I mentioned to Ed that I was running low on Caribbean sunshine yellow, he came over to my spot and asked – aren’t you cold?
No, not especially. Stroke, paint, dab, stroke, paint...
Well I am.
A first. And he was right to notice that the temperatures were falling. We were two degrees upwards of the “no paint zone.”
Reluctantly, I followed him indoors.
I should work on my exams, I say to him.
Come, watch a movie with me.
We do. I can’t remember the last time I watched something in the middle of the day. An eerie, but not altogether unpleasant way to spend a Sunday afternoon.