6:29 PM |
I could not, would not, live in so much isolation and boredom anymore. In the neighborhood, we have exactly three places to eat, and that is if you count the one on the golf course a little outside the perimeter.
Our neighborhood consists of large expanses of manicured grazing fields, punctuated by tangles of native trees and brush. One refers to the family homestead as a farm. Some farms have actual gentleman farming going on, but most have a stone horse barn larger and more well-appointed than the home. They are absurdly valuable, yet everyone just lives on their so-denoted farm..
There are about five small homes in the neighborhood. One is a renovated Friends Meeting House. Another is a remnant of a brief period of 1950's exurban flight. One is mine.
One golden summer, we had dinner on the possessed porch at the meeting house almost every night. It was always Susan, Susie, LouLou, Michael (an honorary girl for girls' nights out), and me. Lou and I were both antsy. I asked her to navigate for me in the Peking to Paris Vintage Motor Rally, 32 days of questionable roads, lodging, food and toilets, not to mention the route through the 'stans and Iran. She was game. Everyone told me that she would drop out, but we went to the car preparer every Thursday to learn how to take apart and put together our 1941 Ford convertible.
Then she found she would be a grandma. I should tell you that Lou is a children's illustrator, and paints wildly vivid murals for her clients. She quit.
I tried to find a new navigator. I really wanted another woman as we would be the first pair from the US. I spoke with a man who jingled his ice in the scotch glass as we talked. Besides being kinda creepy, intimating that the rally wasn't all he was interested in, I found out that he was truly wicked to Susie. I put a note on the rally's website. Had two good leads, one a Danish medical student, and the other an English geologist (doesn't get lost). The latter dogged me ceaselessly, in a good way. I finally found a local woman and did an unsuccessful test run on the Mountain Mille. A whole 'nother story for a different day.
I made calls upon calls. Rich guys didn't need me. Poor ones couldn't contribute. Tried young ones, old ones, big ones, small ones (and would have taken Dr. Seuss), to no avail. Introduction after introduction after introduction. I don't even remember the call that would pull my life in a whole different direction.
Our neighborhood consists of large expanses of manicured grazing fields, punctuated by tangles of native trees and brush. One refers to the family homestead as a farm. Some farms have actual gentleman farming going on, but most have a stone horse barn larger and more well-appointed than the home. They are absurdly valuable, yet everyone just lives on their so-denoted farm..
There are about five small homes in the neighborhood. One is a renovated Friends Meeting House. Another is a remnant of a brief period of 1950's exurban flight. One is mine.
One golden summer, we had dinner on the possessed porch at the meeting house almost every night. It was always Susan, Susie, LouLou, Michael (an honorary girl for girls' nights out), and me. Lou and I were both antsy. I asked her to navigate for me in the Peking to Paris Vintage Motor Rally, 32 days of questionable roads, lodging, food and toilets, not to mention the route through the 'stans and Iran. She was game. Everyone told me that she would drop out, but we went to the car preparer every Thursday to learn how to take apart and put together our 1941 Ford convertible.
Then she found she would be a grandma. I should tell you that Lou is a children's illustrator, and paints wildly vivid murals for her clients. She quit.
I tried to find a new navigator. I really wanted another woman as we would be the first pair from the US. I spoke with a man who jingled his ice in the scotch glass as we talked. Besides being kinda creepy, intimating that the rally wasn't all he was interested in, I found out that he was truly wicked to Susie. I put a note on the rally's website. Had two good leads, one a Danish medical student, and the other an English geologist (doesn't get lost). The latter dogged me ceaselessly, in a good way. I finally found a local woman and did an unsuccessful test run on the Mountain Mille. A whole 'nother story for a different day.
I made calls upon calls. Rich guys didn't need me. Poor ones couldn't contribute. Tried young ones, old ones, big ones, small ones (and would have taken Dr. Seuss), to no avail. Introduction after introduction after introduction. I don't even remember the call that would pull my life in a whole different direction.