Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Monday, May 23, 2011
Growing Old Around the Table
Last Thursday, while I was busy pretending to know a lot about computers, I got a text from one of my best friends who just graduated - she likes to wear pearls and rompers - saying she was here for a visit.
Obviously, all previous plans were dropped in order to hang out. I mean, what else is summer for?
After showering off work - me - and the pool - her - we donned our party pants and Jack Rogers and headed to a local Italian restaurant.
Now the one Italian trait I inherited from my father was the affinity for the pasta and tomato sauce. I can't get tired of it. Thus, after parking my car in some gracious person's yard - darn you college towns and terrible parking - I immediately relaxed into my Venetian state of mind.
Naturally, a jazz band was playing that night. And naturally, I ordered pizza with the bottle of wine three of us split. And naturally, the lead singer of the jazz band - whose ages easily averaged 68 - hit on my blonde friend during the closing song.
It was a somewhat adult but absolutely wonderful experience sitting in that back room swaying to the sounds of NOLA while sipping red wine with two of my dearest friends. If that is what growing up is like, I really don't understand why my peers are getting so stressed about post-graduation. Though we were smack-dab in the middle of a city overrun by 21-year-olds, the tables crammed in around us had a couple with a baby, a 15-year-old celebrating his birthday with his parents, and retirees enjoying the music played by their friends.
Several generations were enjoying the same music as we were, laughing and simply "growing old around the table."
My friends and I are so used to scarfing down our dinner to run to work, class, the library or the philanthropy of the week. That night I learned the value of taking time to get to know other people, even if they are your closest friends.
And of course I grabbed a handful of mints on the way out.
Obviously, all previous plans were dropped in order to hang out. I mean, what else is summer for?
After showering off work - me - and the pool - her - we donned our party pants and Jack Rogers and headed to a local Italian restaurant.
Now the one Italian trait I inherited from my father was the affinity for the pasta and tomato sauce. I can't get tired of it. Thus, after parking my car in some gracious person's yard - darn you college towns and terrible parking - I immediately relaxed into my Venetian state of mind.
Naturally, a jazz band was playing that night. And naturally, I ordered pizza with the bottle of wine three of us split. And naturally, the lead singer of the jazz band - whose ages easily averaged 68 - hit on my blonde friend during the closing song.
It was a somewhat adult but absolutely wonderful experience sitting in that back room swaying to the sounds of NOLA while sipping red wine with two of my dearest friends. If that is what growing up is like, I really don't understand why my peers are getting so stressed about post-graduation. Though we were smack-dab in the middle of a city overrun by 21-year-olds, the tables crammed in around us had a couple with a baby, a 15-year-old celebrating his birthday with his parents, and retirees enjoying the music played by their friends.
Several generations were enjoying the same music as we were, laughing and simply "growing old around the table."
My friends and I are so used to scarfing down our dinner to run to work, class, the library or the philanthropy of the week. That night I learned the value of taking time to get to know other people, even if they are your closest friends.
And of course I grabbed a handful of mints on the way out.
Kinos
So when I created this blog in January, it was for purely academic purposes.
Then summer hit, and without a Facebook or Twitter, I've been itching for some sort of connection to the social media world.
Thank you, my generation.
Now for the story of my summer: Back to work.
Then summer hit, and without a Facebook or Twitter, I've been itching for some sort of connection to the social media world.
Thank you, my generation.
Now for the story of my summer: Back to work.
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