Glad I got off my ass and got out and power-walked this morning. Such a be-you-tiful day too; sunny, warm, cool and breezy. Got all the way to the tennis court in the park before finally turning around and heading back to shower, breakfast and watch Frasier (the "I.Q." episode, then the one guest starring the fabulous Christine Baranski as the Dr. Laura-like radio shrink from hell.) Nothing like a civilized start to your day!
Shopping later:
- fresh strawberries
- bananas
- maybe watermelon if sweet and not too damned expensive
- check out the cherries--only if they're firm and sweet
- green tea
- vine tomatoes
- white potatoes, red onions, green pepper, celery, etc for potato salad
- chips? shouldn't. probably will. undecided.
- a nice dessert of some kind. maybe ice cream, or I'll make a pie (fat chance)
- and I'm sorry, but I want a steak this time, and some hot dogs too. Sick to death of chicken. The Cook Yourself Thin ladies made a mouthwatering-looking flank steak a week or so ago, but I'm not sure I could pull that off. May just try to find a good sirloin.
- hot dog buns
- 100% whole wheat bread (see? see? I'm not totally hopeless)
- paper products: napkins, toilet paper, foil
- whatever else
Note to Self:
- Call Mike M. back
- And, Jesus, Email Michael R. again--it's been way too long; hope he's not mad at me for letting so much time go past without following up.
- Buy the Michel Legrand box set (Le Cinema de Michel Legrand)? Dusty Grooves has it for an excellent price, much better than Amazon.
- Keep trying to find the British CD release of the Tess soundtrack, one that more closely matches the 1981 U.S. LP release, or that at least includes Larry Butler's elegant love theme instrumental.
- Check the mail for the new Netflix stuff!
Arggh. The day is getting away from me (why does it do that? annoying); I should have started this earlier. The store is going to be busy tomorrow, a madhouse by Saturday--I should have done the shopping this morning, especially since I have to work all day tomorrow. Maybe I can shop on my lunch hour tomorr--no, girl. Don't do that. Don't even go there.
What is it now? 82 degrees? Lovely. All those white sails dotting the lake's blue water. I should definitely head back out and get more of this, whether to shop or not. This was a wonderful time to be alive when I was school age, especially the elementary school years. Everything was green again, the weather was nearly perfect--not as cold as it had been, not as hot as it was going to be--classwork was winding down, and my teachers, happily anticipating their summer vacations (or so I surmised), were mellowing and becoming almost human again. Most of them.
Field trips were on the rise, the zoo, the museums, as everyone was restless and eager to get out of doors. No homework, or damn near. I remember how strange and dusty and forlorn the third floor hallways looked on the last day of school, especially with all the classroom doors closed shut. Abandoned and forgotten. The long stretch of floor, that had looked so shiny in the morning, was now streaked and mottled with hundreds of sneaker and sandal prints. I'd look back and around, and, momentarily, feel a deep pang of guilt and a kind of regret...
Then I was out the door like a shot. See you in September, Charles Kozminski. You and the custodian--you're on your own now.
- eggs
- bacon? (really shouldn't)
- 2% milk, a gallon
- nonfat milk, a quart
- bath soap
It was a late spring summer-ish day like this one. There was this girl I'd known in school. What was her name...? Cynthia? No. Yes. I think, Cynthia. We'd stopped dead in our tracks, right in the middle of the sidewalk, upon suddenly, unexpectedly, encountering each other in the street after years of seeing each other in Miss Westmore's class every single day followed by years of not seeing one another at all. This was somewhere in the Reagan eighties, a good dozen-plus years or so away from our elementary school lives. We had not really been girlfriends then, not close-close friends anyway, but I remembered she had been nice, not a bully, had had a certain unassuming charm, and I'd liked her. Well enough.
I was disappointed to realize she seemed delighted to see me. Disappointed because I'd wanted to return the feeling but was instead uneasy and immediately on my guard.
"Lorraine. Lorraine?! Hiiiiii!!" She rushed up to hug me, grinning big. A little awkwardly I hugged back, then stepped away. "Hey, Cyn."
"How you been, girl? How long has it been?!" Swinging and shaking my hand like we were kids. She looked so happy, and... and young, still so much like the skinny little girl she used to be, even more petite than I was. Had once been.
"Um, okay I guess; yeah. Been awhile--how are you?"
"Me, I'm fine, you know. Hangin' in there, trying to raise my kids--!"
"Wow--kids? Get outta here, you're somebody's mom?" She laughed a sheepish little laugh, rolled her eyes. "Girllll, yeah! You know how it is." She looked at me again, a penetrating, right-into-the-eyes kind of look, and took a deep breath.
"So--?" She said expectantly. I braced for it.
"--you? Got kids? You married?" Still that searching look. What the hell was she looking for?
"No. No, I'm not. And no kids, no, not me." Careful.
"No? So what do you do? Are you working, or..?"
I took a deep breath. "I--I'm--I write. I'm a writer."
I shrugged and took a step back. And then Cynthia surprised me. She looked--I'm still not sure this is the right word, but it's the one that comes first to mind--she looked relieved. Pleased, but also relieved. Like one of us had dodged a bullet or something. For the barest second I was puzzled, and then all at once I understood, and as her words came out in a rush of praise and breathless enthusiasm, I felt bottomless sadness for us both.
"Yeaahh, I remember you used to draw all the time! I used to wish I could draw like you! And now you write? You're a writer??"
I swallowed, smiled tightly. "Well. Yeah, trying to--"
"That's great. That is great, Lorraine! I knew it, I knew you'd be something! You were always so smart when we were in school--you used to get really good grades I remember that (laughter)--I used to love the way you draw--do you still draw?--I'm so glad to hear this--I'm so glad one of us made it..."
We stood right in the middle of the sidewalk, oblivious as the errant passerby pointedly walked around us, eying us. And Cynthia went on a little longer like this, animated and gesturing, almost pathetically eager to congratulate me on escaping poverty and routine, celebrating me my many accomplishments.
My many bogus accomplishments.
Because the truth was, I was not a writer, except in spiral notebooks and my daydreams. I'd been a good student, yes, but not an exceptional one, and I did used to draw because I liked to and because I could. And I was lying to Cynthia now because the truth, that I was working a series of hourly wage administrative jobs for a downtown temp agency, was too mundane and bleak and comedown to share. Because I could see in her eyes she wanted--no, she needed--me to be special, a success, and I couldn't bear to let her down or let her see how much I'd let myself down.
I laughed, shaking my head. "Yeah, well. It's hard, you know..." Cynthia nodded vigorously, as though she could well imagine. "Oh, but you'll make it, Lorraine! Just keep it up, girl, keep doing it, you'll make it--I know you will--"
Then we chatted briefly about other schoolmates--who was now driving a bus, who had gotten married and divorced and re-married, who had had to leave town, who had had twins, who still looked just the same as back in the day--and finally we hugged once more and parted, moving again in our separate directions, each of turning around to wave. I couldn't get away from her fast enough. Her and her touching pride and hopefulness; me and my pack of lies.
And Cyn, if you're reading this now, try not to hate me too much. I was wrong for that, I know, but I wasn't playing you. I was just scared. You had come floating up out of my past, the girl who had known the girl with all the potential, and--for a moment, for a little while--I was desperate to see in someone's eyes the me I wished I was, would like to have been.
- mild cheddar cheese
- laundry detergent
- bag of ice
- frozen spinach
- soda pop.
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