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I didn't expect to be at home tonight
Mar. 9th, 2003 10:48 pmBut Eric is having a hermitish day; he is seriously overworked, not to mention having a lot of stress going on from various directions. He took me to dinner at New Delhi again (must not let this get out of hand; neither of us really has a lot of spare money) and we had a different kind of fish dish, the green-pepper-tomato-complex-spices axis of Indian seasonings, and bhindi (bindhi? argh! Okra!) masala again, and aloo gobi muttar, and the bread sampler, which turned out, the latter, that is, to be insanely huge. I adored the coconut-stuffed bread. There were plenty of leftovers, which was part of the point. I felt quite forlorn going home on the bus, but the nice thing about having sweeties who don't live with one is that one is glad to be with them but one is also glad to be home again.
Back to our previous narrative, of Saturday evening. I tried calling Saigon (the restaurant, you wiseacres) around six, and at six-fifteen, and at six-thirty. No answer. They are often understaffed, but I've never seen them fail to answer the phone; I have indeed sometimes been sitting in the restaurant feeling that take-out orders are privileged over eat-in ones. I didn't really expect Eric until seven-thirty at the very very earliest, and I hadn't had a walk yet, so I went over there, into a bitter bitter east wind, cursing the public institutions that had not yet cleared their sidewalks. (I walked on the other side of 38th Street on the way back. The Catholic church on that side had done its walk and, I think, from the uniformity of the snowbanks, possibly its entire block.)
Saigon is closed until March 20 so that the head cook can go back to Vietnam "to visit with her aged parents." So said the sign on the darkened window, and that made me go Awww, but it did not provide any dinner. I came home again, slipping and sliding, and consulted with Raphael. We decided against Pizza Luce and in favor of the Chinese Express, a restaurant on Lake Street that has more-or-less mediocre food but will deliver it, and has fresh vegetables. I called them and ordered Tofu Home Style, Broccoli in Garlic Sauce, and two orders of Mu Shu Shrimp. They were out of pancakes. I hastily ordered Kung Bo Shrimp and Shrimp Lo Mein instead.
The food arrived in 35 minutes, as they had said it would. I took some up to Raphael, and ate some lo mein myself, and talked to a discouraged Lydy -- Chumley has stopped eating again, after a perfectly ordinary week. He also takes so badly to being medicated that she had to get a tetanus shot.
Eric arrived around a quarter to nine, having sensibly gone home first to do his prep for the Sunday SAT training session. We ate our food and checked the bus schedule. The next bus that would take us near the party was at 9:49. We got impatient fairly soon, since Eric was going to have to leave early because of the Sunday SAT session's beginning at an ungodly hour. Eric thought the bus map looked as if the 18G might turn around on 50th Street. We could walk easily from there. I was dubious about its really going so far south, but we decided to chance it. We walked over to Grand Avenue. It was a lot more fun in his company, even though the wind was bitterer yet.
The bus came, we got on, Eric asked the driver about the route. Forty-sixth Street. (I'd thought 48th.) So we got off at 46th and Nicollet, peered down the street briefly in case there was a bus coming, and started walking. Eric showed me Jupiter, Sirius, and Castor and Pollux. We had a splendid time. The bridge over Minnehaha Creek was daunting; its sidewalks had not been cleared. Eric did point out a partially-beaten path, preventing my floundering all the way across in completely untrodden snow. Once we got past the bridge the going was easy.
The entire front hall was full of shoes and boots. My glasses immediately became opaque. Bruce appeared and gave me a huge hug and a very sweet remark to offset an email exchange he was afraid had upset me, and kindly cleaned my glasses for me. I heard David saying, "Don't I know you from somewhere?" but he had disappeared when I could see again. I found him somewhat later. By the time Eric and I had gone upstairs and got rid of our coats and had a quick hug in the upstairs hallway, I knew that I was not feeling sociable. But there was always music.
I need to sort out my memory better before proceeding to the second part of our riveting narrative. But I had a lovely time all the evening.
Pamela
Back to our previous narrative, of Saturday evening. I tried calling Saigon (the restaurant, you wiseacres) around six, and at six-fifteen, and at six-thirty. No answer. They are often understaffed, but I've never seen them fail to answer the phone; I have indeed sometimes been sitting in the restaurant feeling that take-out orders are privileged over eat-in ones. I didn't really expect Eric until seven-thirty at the very very earliest, and I hadn't had a walk yet, so I went over there, into a bitter bitter east wind, cursing the public institutions that had not yet cleared their sidewalks. (I walked on the other side of 38th Street on the way back. The Catholic church on that side had done its walk and, I think, from the uniformity of the snowbanks, possibly its entire block.)
Saigon is closed until March 20 so that the head cook can go back to Vietnam "to visit with her aged parents." So said the sign on the darkened window, and that made me go Awww, but it did not provide any dinner. I came home again, slipping and sliding, and consulted with Raphael. We decided against Pizza Luce and in favor of the Chinese Express, a restaurant on Lake Street that has more-or-less mediocre food but will deliver it, and has fresh vegetables. I called them and ordered Tofu Home Style, Broccoli in Garlic Sauce, and two orders of Mu Shu Shrimp. They were out of pancakes. I hastily ordered Kung Bo Shrimp and Shrimp Lo Mein instead.
The food arrived in 35 minutes, as they had said it would. I took some up to Raphael, and ate some lo mein myself, and talked to a discouraged Lydy -- Chumley has stopped eating again, after a perfectly ordinary week. He also takes so badly to being medicated that she had to get a tetanus shot.
Eric arrived around a quarter to nine, having sensibly gone home first to do his prep for the Sunday SAT training session. We ate our food and checked the bus schedule. The next bus that would take us near the party was at 9:49. We got impatient fairly soon, since Eric was going to have to leave early because of the Sunday SAT session's beginning at an ungodly hour. Eric thought the bus map looked as if the 18G might turn around on 50th Street. We could walk easily from there. I was dubious about its really going so far south, but we decided to chance it. We walked over to Grand Avenue. It was a lot more fun in his company, even though the wind was bitterer yet.
The bus came, we got on, Eric asked the driver about the route. Forty-sixth Street. (I'd thought 48th.) So we got off at 46th and Nicollet, peered down the street briefly in case there was a bus coming, and started walking. Eric showed me Jupiter, Sirius, and Castor and Pollux. We had a splendid time. The bridge over Minnehaha Creek was daunting; its sidewalks had not been cleared. Eric did point out a partially-beaten path, preventing my floundering all the way across in completely untrodden snow. Once we got past the bridge the going was easy.
The entire front hall was full of shoes and boots. My glasses immediately became opaque. Bruce appeared and gave me a huge hug and a very sweet remark to offset an email exchange he was afraid had upset me, and kindly cleaned my glasses for me. I heard David saying, "Don't I know you from somewhere?" but he had disappeared when I could see again. I found him somewhat later. By the time Eric and I had gone upstairs and got rid of our coats and had a quick hug in the upstairs hallway, I knew that I was not feeling sociable. But there was always music.
I need to sort out my memory better before proceeding to the second part of our riveting narrative. But I had a lovely time all the evening.
Pamela
