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Thursday May 18, 2000
"If you pick up a starving dog and make him prosperous, he will not bite you. That is the principal difference between dog and a man." Mark Twain
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after all these years I awoke early. I dressed, packed and at 7:45 I was ready to introduce the speaker at the first session I was moderating. That one ran a little long and after I'd gathered the evaluations and delivered them to headquarters, I had to motor to the next session to do the same gig. Then back to the room and gather the luggage and get in line to check out. The computers went down and created a long line. The irony was not lost on me. If they'd printed a summary bill and slipped it under the door, I would have done express checkout. But they didn't. After getting my luggage stowed in the Buick (which was, miraculously still sitting outside where I'd left it Sunday), I tried to go to the next session late. The session was full and closed that I wanted to attend. So I just had a coke and a snack and went to headquarters and vented a little to a pal there. Then I went to the speaker's lunch. Then there were was another presentation, a panel and, finally, the close of the conference. They drew for a prize (a laptop) which I didn't win. I also didn't get one of the top ten speakers. That was disappointing, but not at all surprising. I called my old friend Al from a pay phone in the hotel. I arranged to meet him at a restaurant that is still there from when I lived here. It's a wine bar called The Grape. I called the folks and they said they'd meet me there, too, since I'd otherwise be bucking rush hour to go to their house and get them. I drove to an area where I lived in 1972. It was an apartment complex. I had an efficiency and I liked it pretty well. I think it cost about a hundred dollars a month. When I moved out that year, I stayed with my parents a couple of weeks and then went off to Europe for three months. My best attempt at a 'big adventure' that was. I guess. The street with the apartment and the vague familiarity and yet strangeness of the surrounding streets made me feel odd. Driving Dad's unfamiliar Buick, making turns and taking streets that seemed strange yet known. And all after four days mostly cooped up in the hotel city breathing the poisonous fumes. I went to the area with the restaurant and parked in a spot in front of a 'reader advisor' storefront and some closed shops. I walked up the street a little, bought Forrest an anniversary gift at one of those neat shops with the work of different artists (cuff links) and had a glass of wine in the bar at the Grape. This restaurant, which goes back so long in my memories further fueled my nostalgia. Al and my parents and I had a pleasant meal. Al told great stories about his dad visiting Europe in the twenties. We had a pleasant meal. Al and I shared a bottle of Seghesio Zin. My beef was yummy but I couldn't finish it. Dad helped a little as he'd just ordered an app, but we took the rest home. I gave Al some pastis glasses I bought on ebay and he liked them. He'd just flown in from Mexico City as a 'mystery passenger' rating a flight crew. Someone is always watching. At home with the parents. More nostalgia. There are boxes all around. But things still have a familiar look. That furniture, this book. Things Mom has had for a long time. "Here's my old Spanish book," she says. "I hate to get rid of it." I don't encourage them to discard more than they want. There's plenty of time for that. Mother is having pain across her back. Dad gives her a Nitroglycerin. They think they've found some heart problem and she goes back to the doctor on Tuesday. Slept in a bed I've occupied many times. Mom got out a feather pillow because I like them.
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