We forgot our anniversary
Apr. 3rd, 2003 04:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pameladeanRaphael and I did, I more comprehensively than Raphael, since when I got up blearily at five a.m. to cough, she said cheerily, "Happy anniversary, sweetie!"
"Oh no, it's April second!"
"Well, it isn't now."
We had discussed what to do to celebrate, more than once, but just spaced it on the day. We agreed to do something once I am not occupied quite so much with my new hobby of coughing.
Eight years, though. Not so shabby for a relationship that began entirely on-line and was subjected to a number of (very kindly and well-meaning) dire warnings about how These Things Didn't Work Out So Well in real time. I am trying to smile graciously and acknowledge the role of good luck, rather than preening unbecomingly.
In other news, hmm, Eric and I were both feeling so unwell that we cancelled our Tuesday date. I hate doing that; it's not as if there are going to be a large number of them in the future. We had a very satisfactory telephone conversation, however.
David's mother had expressed a desire for his company, and mine too if I liked. After his father's death he had gone to Northfield every week and then every other week, with me trotting along when I didn't have conflicting medical appointments; but since he got work it's been harder. After some back and forth, we decided on Wednesday -- the anniversary, as it turned out, but I was blissfully ignorant of that. Since we both had work to do and I wasn't feeling that wonderful, we agreed to leave in the late afternoon and not get home too far into the evening. This was fortunate. I didn't even get up until one.
We stopped at the Snyder's on 46th and Nicollet for cough syrup and cough drops, and incidentally shampoo, and then drove to Northfield. It was a day of hazy sunshine. The countryside is still brown and gray and golden and black and bleached white. But, as happens every spring, as we came into the Minnesota River valley to cross the long bridge, the trees whose tops you can see above the annoying barriers that keep cars from plummetting into the river (yes, I know, that's a good thing) carried in their vicinity a touch of green.
The trees had not leafed out; they did not even have much in the way of bristly buds. You could not see the green head-on: if you looked straight at the trees, their trunks were gray and pale brown and dark brown, quite bare. But if you looked at the aggregate of trees, there was a stain of palest green, as if you had held up a filter between your eyes and the view. If you used averted vision, as in astronomy, you could see it better, just the barest tinge. When you look at the stars, with averted or normal vision, you are looking into the past. But looking at the trees in the Minnesot River valley and seeing that phantom green, I was looking into the future. I hope that is a better harbinger than the daily news.
David and I had some exceedingly pleasant conversation on a number of topics. This continued after we got to Northfield and had been properly greeted by his mother and Tuxedo, the ruling cat. We went around the yard looking at what was coming up. Northfield is generally a bit warmer than the Cities, and Mary's got more south-facing beds than I have, so there was more to look at. Her coral bells were a froth of new leaves. Mine still look dead. She also showed us where more new houses were going up, rather close, in what had been, I think, land owned by the greenhouse that used to be next door.
The wind was not very friendly, so we went back in after I had coughed a bit. Mary showed us a letter written by David's father to the army about the nonsensicality of one of their forms; she said she felt it was "vintage," and it certainly was. She gave us some copies of "The Nation" for Lydy and some wooden hangars for the household, and offered us a ripe avocado, but we forgot to take it home.
For dinner we went where we almost always go, because it has food I can eat and is a favorite place of Mary's. The restaurant is called the Byzantine. It recently moved, in a complicated series of events I don't recall perfectly, into the space occupied by a restaurant called something like The Village Cafe. For the moment they are keeping both menus. I looked over the Village Cafe menu, but we all ended up ordering from that of The Byzantine. Tomato Ash soup, a spicy tomato soup with bits of noodle in it, and the vegetarian combination plate for me: rice and dahl, spicy potatoes, spicy spinach, curried squash. Everything was either soft, cut very small, or pureed, so it was good for my throat, and it tasted splendid. David had shrimp rotti, which he quite enjoyed, and Mary had chicken on a skewer.
At one point our waitress, having asked us if everything was all right, went on to take the order of the people a booth or so down from us, and from that booth clearly emanated the following remark: "I don't want nothing French. Have you got any freedom fries?" I hoped this was a joke. The waitress replied soothingly, "I think we can find you some freedom fries if you want them." "Yeah, I do -- but if there aren't any, then French You-Know. Only I don't want nothing French." Oh dear.
Northfield has two colleges in it, but that doesn't seem to help. After the waitress had left, somebody else in the booth asked a question, and the no-Frencher replied, "No, I don't want nothing French. They backed out of the war." Excuse me? Oh, never mind. I quit listening.
The Byzantine's one drawback is that it is often out of the dessert you want. I've only had their baklava once. (No, it's not vegan. I don't care. It has pistachios.) David and Mary ordered their raspberry brownies, and I decided I might as well risk the Village Cafe's apple pie.
It turned out that they had one brownie and one piece of apple pie left, so David ended up with lemon meringue pie. The apple pie was, I think, entirely commercial, with one of those chemical crusts and a very sticky gloppy crumb topping. The apple bits weren't bad, so I ate them. I realized as I did so that the tastes of the pie went better with my expectations of the decor than the tastes of the dinner had. David's pie was touted as homemade and I expect I'd have liked it, but he is fussy about lemon meringue and was not terribly impressed. Mary liked her brownie.
We went back to the house and had some more conversation and played with the cat, and got on the road for home around seven-thirty or so. We had another very interesting and pleasant conversation on the way home, and parted to go see our other sweeties with a great many smiles.
Raphael had taped "The West Wing," and we watched it later on. I can't ever decide if the whole of an episode is good after one viewing, but there were a lot of nice little moments, and I laughed enough to make me cough. There's a testimonial, I don't think.
Pamela
"Oh no, it's April second!"
"Well, it isn't now."
We had discussed what to do to celebrate, more than once, but just spaced it on the day. We agreed to do something once I am not occupied quite so much with my new hobby of coughing.
Eight years, though. Not so shabby for a relationship that began entirely on-line and was subjected to a number of (very kindly and well-meaning) dire warnings about how These Things Didn't Work Out So Well in real time. I am trying to smile graciously and acknowledge the role of good luck, rather than preening unbecomingly.
In other news, hmm, Eric and I were both feeling so unwell that we cancelled our Tuesday date. I hate doing that; it's not as if there are going to be a large number of them in the future. We had a very satisfactory telephone conversation, however.
David's mother had expressed a desire for his company, and mine too if I liked. After his father's death he had gone to Northfield every week and then every other week, with me trotting along when I didn't have conflicting medical appointments; but since he got work it's been harder. After some back and forth, we decided on Wednesday -- the anniversary, as it turned out, but I was blissfully ignorant of that. Since we both had work to do and I wasn't feeling that wonderful, we agreed to leave in the late afternoon and not get home too far into the evening. This was fortunate. I didn't even get up until one.
We stopped at the Snyder's on 46th and Nicollet for cough syrup and cough drops, and incidentally shampoo, and then drove to Northfield. It was a day of hazy sunshine. The countryside is still brown and gray and golden and black and bleached white. But, as happens every spring, as we came into the Minnesota River valley to cross the long bridge, the trees whose tops you can see above the annoying barriers that keep cars from plummetting into the river (yes, I know, that's a good thing) carried in their vicinity a touch of green.
The trees had not leafed out; they did not even have much in the way of bristly buds. You could not see the green head-on: if you looked straight at the trees, their trunks were gray and pale brown and dark brown, quite bare. But if you looked at the aggregate of trees, there was a stain of palest green, as if you had held up a filter between your eyes and the view. If you used averted vision, as in astronomy, you could see it better, just the barest tinge. When you look at the stars, with averted or normal vision, you are looking into the past. But looking at the trees in the Minnesot River valley and seeing that phantom green, I was looking into the future. I hope that is a better harbinger than the daily news.
David and I had some exceedingly pleasant conversation on a number of topics. This continued after we got to Northfield and had been properly greeted by his mother and Tuxedo, the ruling cat. We went around the yard looking at what was coming up. Northfield is generally a bit warmer than the Cities, and Mary's got more south-facing beds than I have, so there was more to look at. Her coral bells were a froth of new leaves. Mine still look dead. She also showed us where more new houses were going up, rather close, in what had been, I think, land owned by the greenhouse that used to be next door.
The wind was not very friendly, so we went back in after I had coughed a bit. Mary showed us a letter written by David's father to the army about the nonsensicality of one of their forms; she said she felt it was "vintage," and it certainly was. She gave us some copies of "The Nation" for Lydy and some wooden hangars for the household, and offered us a ripe avocado, but we forgot to take it home.
For dinner we went where we almost always go, because it has food I can eat and is a favorite place of Mary's. The restaurant is called the Byzantine. It recently moved, in a complicated series of events I don't recall perfectly, into the space occupied by a restaurant called something like The Village Cafe. For the moment they are keeping both menus. I looked over the Village Cafe menu, but we all ended up ordering from that of The Byzantine. Tomato Ash soup, a spicy tomato soup with bits of noodle in it, and the vegetarian combination plate for me: rice and dahl, spicy potatoes, spicy spinach, curried squash. Everything was either soft, cut very small, or pureed, so it was good for my throat, and it tasted splendid. David had shrimp rotti, which he quite enjoyed, and Mary had chicken on a skewer.
At one point our waitress, having asked us if everything was all right, went on to take the order of the people a booth or so down from us, and from that booth clearly emanated the following remark: "I don't want nothing French. Have you got any freedom fries?" I hoped this was a joke. The waitress replied soothingly, "I think we can find you some freedom fries if you want them." "Yeah, I do -- but if there aren't any, then French You-Know. Only I don't want nothing French." Oh dear.
Northfield has two colleges in it, but that doesn't seem to help. After the waitress had left, somebody else in the booth asked a question, and the no-Frencher replied, "No, I don't want nothing French. They backed out of the war." Excuse me? Oh, never mind. I quit listening.
The Byzantine's one drawback is that it is often out of the dessert you want. I've only had their baklava once. (No, it's not vegan. I don't care. It has pistachios.) David and Mary ordered their raspberry brownies, and I decided I might as well risk the Village Cafe's apple pie.
It turned out that they had one brownie and one piece of apple pie left, so David ended up with lemon meringue pie. The apple pie was, I think, entirely commercial, with one of those chemical crusts and a very sticky gloppy crumb topping. The apple bits weren't bad, so I ate them. I realized as I did so that the tastes of the pie went better with my expectations of the decor than the tastes of the dinner had. David's pie was touted as homemade and I expect I'd have liked it, but he is fussy about lemon meringue and was not terribly impressed. Mary liked her brownie.
We went back to the house and had some more conversation and played with the cat, and got on the road for home around seven-thirty or so. We had another very interesting and pleasant conversation on the way home, and parted to go see our other sweeties with a great many smiles.
Raphael had taped "The West Wing," and we watched it later on. I can't ever decide if the whole of an episode is good after one viewing, but there were a lot of nice little moments, and I laughed enough to make me cough. There's a testimonial, I don't think.
Pamela
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no subject
Date: 2003-04-03 03:39 pm (UTC)*toasts you with cough syrup*
no subject
Date: 2003-04-03 03:43 pm (UTC)Incidentally, Michele and I have been together for five years, and we met online too. She's been with Paul since 1979 -- married since 1987, poly the whole time. Sonja and Paul have only been together for a couple of years, but we've all been living together a year and a half. So far it's working well. We're even getting better at handling the single most difficult issue of poly life: who cleans the cat box.
no subject
Date: 2003-04-04 01:01 pm (UTC)Congratulations on your longevity!
Pamela
no subject
Date: 2003-04-03 03:43 pm (UTC)And I hope your cough gets better soon.
Harbinger of spring
Date: 2003-04-03 03:49 pm (UTC)I need spring. Real soon now.
...many poems....
Date: 2003-04-04 10:05 am (UTC)senior year of college, i wrote poem called 'may in minnesota' - my friend from nj liked the writing, but i remember she was upset and commented that the whole problem was that may in minnesota was like march in jersey. i always liked it that way.
harbingers of spring... another poem, one i wrote when i was 11, about crocuses. my teacher titled it; i wasn't happy, because i didn't know what 'harbinger' meant!
sad to hear that the byzantine has moved; i hope they re-paint the walls!
Re: Harbinger of spring
Date: 2003-04-04 01:03 pm (UTC)It's interesting, since you mention that poem -- Minnesota weather is almost the only thing about which I have successfully written sonnets.
Pamela
no subject
Date: 2003-04-03 04:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-04-03 04:47 pm (UTC)K.
no subject
Date: 2003-04-04 10:14 am (UTC)For Raphael and me, it's one day in the first five we spent together in person; we chose it because we were granted a very long close look at a hummingbird at the Desert Botanical Garden in Phoenix, at sunset.
Pamela
no subject
Date: 2003-04-04 06:55 am (UTC)I am sure that in this situation, a little bit of preening would not be in the slightest bit unbecoming.
Am currently looking forward to the seventh anniversary of the relationship that became my marriage, which has been primarily an online relationship for the majority of its length and still has many of the good features of such a thing. [ Words, mostly. ] With characteristic wisdom, Papersky became involved with me on my birthday, which makes our anniversary almost impossible for me to forget.
no subject
Date: 2003-04-04 07:34 am (UTC)Pamela, Raphael, congratulations and many happy returns.
no subject
Date: 2003-04-04 01:06 pm (UTC)Though you make me wonder what a benign polyamorous version of "The Prince" would look like. (I believe the malign one already exists, in the form of the "How to Fuck Up" FAQ.
Thanks to everyone for the congratulations; I really appreciate them.
Pamela
no subject
Date: 2003-04-05 12:20 pm (UTC)B
no subject
Date: 2003-04-05 12:50 pm (UTC)Thank you.
Pamela
no subject
Date: 2003-04-05 08:59 pm (UTC)R. is quoted in one of the terrestrial orchid descriptions.
K. [as pleased as if I'd discovered it myself, though in fact it was SLH who pointed it out]