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pameladeanI would say that I am nothing if not thorough, but it isn't really true.
We had thought of going to Natraj for brunch on Sunday, and of doing the shopping we had not done Saturday. But we got up quite late and were due at Elise's at 5:30 for dinner. So we had a quick lunch at Acadia, after which I was going to go home to give Eric a bit of time to himself. However, it was a perfect summer day, so we decided to go to Loring Park, on the grounds that dragonflies would not be much bothered by the Pride celebration. We went out on the little wooden dock, gazing earnestly at a small shallow bit with water lilies and a nice stand of cattails. No dragonflies for quite a while, but a number of red-winged blackbirds. I was scanning the lower bits of the cattails for perching dragonflies and saw a cunning concoction of dried plants arranged in rings like a coiled clay pot, attached somehow to a number of cattail stems. "Is that a nest?" I said. It was. A female blackbird flew busily in and out of it, and Eric was the first to spot a baby: "I see the little head!"
We eventually also saw high-flying egrets and a cormorant, and a number of blue damselflies, and a couple of darners, and, thanks to Eric's quick eye, a brief glimpse of a widow skimmer. We left reluctantly, and dawdled, as is our habit, to try to identify some handsome shrubs with red berries. Eric had thought he recognized them and tasted one of the berries the day before, just after we were cheered for kissing one another by a man in a car. "I'm going to be doing that in five minutes myself!" he said. We joked that it was nice to be cheered for apparently heterosexual kissing in that time and place.
Anyway, we couldn't identify the bushes, but Eric got some good practice in identifying box elder. I had really no idea what it looked like before now, but I think there is some in my yard.
We ran unexpectedly into an old friend of Eric's returning to the park; his family was selling jewellery there. They exchanged email addresses, and Eric told me that this was the person in whose basement had been Eric's connection to Fidonet in the nineteen-eighties.
We found a bus stop in the shade for me, and Eric was then further delayed by a male house finch, who obligingly perched on a light fixture and sang for several minutes. Eric went home, I got on the next bus, and got home just in time to look up the 23 schedule and call Eric to tell him when to be here, take a fast shower, give Raphael a back rub, and rush off again.
We ran into Elise's dear Mr. Ford on the bus.
I enjoyed the evening very much. H and X from next door were there. They had brought a huge platter of fruit, including mangoes. Mike had brought baba ganoush, hummos, and pita bread. Elise made bean glop. H is a great anecdotalist. I realized during his longest story that some of his methods and sound effects reminded me irresistably of another storyteller of my appearance, Jon Singer. I know they know one another well, but I don't know which way the effects run in this instance.
I got to talk to X a bit, and Elise took Eric and X and me up to her workshop and showed us some works in progress.
My favorite moment was probably when I mentioned Steve and Terri's theory that if one leaves a long relationship, one reverts to the age one was when it began. Mike got that look of helpless bemusement that one learns to be wary of if one knows him, and said, "I'm sorry, but I was just thinking -- Beren and Luthien? 'Excuse me, is it the First Age again?'"
In the last of sunset on a perfect summer day, we came outside and began to walk back to my place, where Eric had left his bicycle. It was a similar walk to the one we had made in the other direction to get to the Minn-Stf meeting -- we took 37th Street rather than 42nd, and went from Bloomington to Blaisdell rather than Nicollet to 11th Avenue, but the neighborhood was similar. There is an amazing variety and number of trees. On our way to the Minn-Stf meeting we'd seen a huge Douglas fir; in this direction what I recall best, aside from the large lovely silver maples, are a huge walnut tree and a big un-American elm. We also came across a wonderful garden full of blanket flower and cornflowers and lilies and delphinium; it was on a corner lot, and the people with the lot on the other side of the alley also had a long garden, but more given to leafy texture than blossom.
When we got home we had some slightly fraught conversation in the living room, and then stood in the back yard and were visited by a bat, as often but not invariably happens. Eric identified some stars for me. Then he went home, and I went in.
Pamela
We had thought of going to Natraj for brunch on Sunday, and of doing the shopping we had not done Saturday. But we got up quite late and were due at Elise's at 5:30 for dinner. So we had a quick lunch at Acadia, after which I was going to go home to give Eric a bit of time to himself. However, it was a perfect summer day, so we decided to go to Loring Park, on the grounds that dragonflies would not be much bothered by the Pride celebration. We went out on the little wooden dock, gazing earnestly at a small shallow bit with water lilies and a nice stand of cattails. No dragonflies for quite a while, but a number of red-winged blackbirds. I was scanning the lower bits of the cattails for perching dragonflies and saw a cunning concoction of dried plants arranged in rings like a coiled clay pot, attached somehow to a number of cattail stems. "Is that a nest?" I said. It was. A female blackbird flew busily in and out of it, and Eric was the first to spot a baby: "I see the little head!"
We eventually also saw high-flying egrets and a cormorant, and a number of blue damselflies, and a couple of darners, and, thanks to Eric's quick eye, a brief glimpse of a widow skimmer. We left reluctantly, and dawdled, as is our habit, to try to identify some handsome shrubs with red berries. Eric had thought he recognized them and tasted one of the berries the day before, just after we were cheered for kissing one another by a man in a car. "I'm going to be doing that in five minutes myself!" he said. We joked that it was nice to be cheered for apparently heterosexual kissing in that time and place.
Anyway, we couldn't identify the bushes, but Eric got some good practice in identifying box elder. I had really no idea what it looked like before now, but I think there is some in my yard.
We ran unexpectedly into an old friend of Eric's returning to the park; his family was selling jewellery there. They exchanged email addresses, and Eric told me that this was the person in whose basement had been Eric's connection to Fidonet in the nineteen-eighties.
We found a bus stop in the shade for me, and Eric was then further delayed by a male house finch, who obligingly perched on a light fixture and sang for several minutes. Eric went home, I got on the next bus, and got home just in time to look up the 23 schedule and call Eric to tell him when to be here, take a fast shower, give Raphael a back rub, and rush off again.
We ran into Elise's dear Mr. Ford on the bus.
I enjoyed the evening very much. H and X from next door were there. They had brought a huge platter of fruit, including mangoes. Mike had brought baba ganoush, hummos, and pita bread. Elise made bean glop. H is a great anecdotalist. I realized during his longest story that some of his methods and sound effects reminded me irresistably of another storyteller of my appearance, Jon Singer. I know they know one another well, but I don't know which way the effects run in this instance.
I got to talk to X a bit, and Elise took Eric and X and me up to her workshop and showed us some works in progress.
My favorite moment was probably when I mentioned Steve and Terri's theory that if one leaves a long relationship, one reverts to the age one was when it began. Mike got that look of helpless bemusement that one learns to be wary of if one knows him, and said, "I'm sorry, but I was just thinking -- Beren and Luthien? 'Excuse me, is it the First Age again?'"
In the last of sunset on a perfect summer day, we came outside and began to walk back to my place, where Eric had left his bicycle. It was a similar walk to the one we had made in the other direction to get to the Minn-Stf meeting -- we took 37th Street rather than 42nd, and went from Bloomington to Blaisdell rather than Nicollet to 11th Avenue, but the neighborhood was similar. There is an amazing variety and number of trees. On our way to the Minn-Stf meeting we'd seen a huge Douglas fir; in this direction what I recall best, aside from the large lovely silver maples, are a huge walnut tree and a big un-American elm. We also came across a wonderful garden full of blanket flower and cornflowers and lilies and delphinium; it was on a corner lot, and the people with the lot on the other side of the alley also had a long garden, but more given to leafy texture than blossom.
When we got home we had some slightly fraught conversation in the living room, and then stood in the back yard and were visited by a bat, as often but not invariably happens. Eric identified some stars for me. Then he went home, and I went in.
Pamela
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Date: 2003-06-30 09:34 pm (UTC)ask me sometime about what happened after my mother died and my dad started dating again!
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Date: 2003-07-02 10:28 am (UTC)Pamela