Or maybe this is how Charlie Rose feels, meeting, often for the first time, and having a conversation with, a new person each day, a different person every day. There has been that aspect, for me, too -- not that in the Charlie Rose high-achievement way, that the men are in that pantheon. But what of it? Do you think I care? No, I don't. I'm not Charlie Rose. I'm me. And I am really enjoying meeting these men, and having an interesting conversation, and marveling - well, it's just so hard to meet anyone, really, in our culture, once one's past a certain age, I guess -- and I didn't have children, so I didn't meet men that way. (Oh -- someone's whispering a prompt in my ear -- oh, one doesn't meet men at after-school soccer games and PTA events? Oh it's the other Mommies you meet -- well who wants that?)
After the drink & conversation -- about creative process, he has written several novels, which he described to me, and I to him my blog -- we amiably parted company, neither of us attracted to the other, but both glad, I think, of a very pleasant hour indeed, comparing notes as to writing & the relief of finding quiet in the country after all the noise (of all kinds, not just aural) of the city...
So afterward, on my half-hour drive back to Hudson, where I had to pick up D, I stopped by a supermarket, in search of a particular multi-grain "pilaf" that D and I are extremely enamored of, that we discovered at our local supermarket a few months ago -- which has since, for some inexplicable reason, stopped carrying it. D loves this product so much -- as do I, it has a magical, absolutely tummy-filling warming from inside-out quality, radiantly satisfying -- that he has been engaged in an email quest with the manufacturer (Kashi) as to why ShopRite no longer carries the 7-grain boxed mix. D does not view it as sufficient that the response he received back from customer service was, essentially 'drive further -- the Stop & Shop in Rhinebeck stocks it.' And D noted too, that he'd stopped by a Hannaford's at the dread traffic circle north of us -- and well, actually, I didn't gather whether that chain carries the pilaf or not.
But if I meet, next week, my date-in-the-wings at one of the establishments I scouted out in advance, maybe I'll pop into that supermarket, since I'm there, and pick up a few more boxes.
Dear M, I did a little bit of scouting today. Nothing terribly exciting to report, though... I checked out the traffic circle at 9 & 9H. McDonalds, Dunkin Donuts, something called the "Columbia Diner" (didn't look too exciting), a Four Brothers Pizza, and in a strip mall by the Hannafords, another pizza place & a Chinese. The end. That's about as far north as I went in my investigations. So if you'd like to suggest a place closer to Albany -- ball's in your court. I'm sure there's no shortage of virtually every chain restaurant there is.***
Well, darling, for some reason I smell like aftershave to myself - unpleasant - why is that? I had this problem with a perfume I used to wear long ago, that combined with cigarette smoke, ended up smelling like Christmas trees. And where my first-and-last-date this afternoon sat, at a small iron table on an outside patio, downwind of two entire tablefuls of smokers -- wow, does Miss Dior combined with stale secondhand smoke smell like cheap aftershave? Because what else could be the culprit?
No poetry tonight -- just a very, very genuine wish -- that I could meet someone -- you? -- who I would really enjoy hanging out with, or cohabiting with, and feel a sense of connection, and of feeling, the way I've felt, and do now in some ways, only really would like to do so again - corporeally. Is that possible for me anymore? I don't really know - maybe not, maybe I'm too set in my ways. I wonder.
In the meantime darling -- many kisses. Ah good, that's done with, now we can go on - in our separate realms.
Thank you for saying that I don't have to - but I insist - I'll leave the tip.