Random summer notes

For about 60 days now, I've been spending most of my time holed up in the Very Dark Room. That's the master bedroom of my house, where I've covered the windows enough that at high noon, the room is about as dimly lit as the inside of a movie theater.

I still eat frequently with the Wednesday/Friday dinner group, but I'm not there all the time. I'm a rare sight at the coffee shop. I never eat at home now, but most of my meals are taken alone, usually at some neighborhood sandwich shop or café. I don't like high-end 'dining concept' places. Sometimes I'll dine with a friend, but most of the time I'm alone. Sometimes, frankly, I tire of the companionship of even my best friends, and I'm sure they sometimes tire of mine.

If you saw "I Heart Huckabee's", you'll remember how the marketing executive Brad Stand (played by Jude Law) constantly repeats a story about his encounter with Shania Twain. I have that in mind constantly when I find myself telling a story to friends, because I guarantee you, any story I tell is one I've told before. I ran out of new material years ago.

The heat continues to be oppressive, and part of the reason I'm staying holed up. My car thermometer registered 123 degrees in a parking lot today. The official high was only about 102, with a heat index of 104, but it gets a lot hotter out on a vast expanse of concrete.

I ran into the willowy ethereal Buddhist a few weeks ago, and we ended up having coffee together one afternoon. It was our first sitdown together in a year and a half.

A couple of weeks later, she called and invited me to a movie that evening. We went to see an old film at the art museum. On the way home, she mentioned she had seen and enjoyed "Iron Man". That's about the last movie on earth I would have expected her to sit through. Which goes to show that yet again, I didn't know a woman as well as I thought I did, and made assumptions based on my own preferences rather than looking at reality. Too bad I didn't learn that lesson thirty or forty years ago, when it might have mattered.

The willowy ethereal Buddhist being who she is, I might hear from her again next week, or it might be another year and a half.

More random notes to come.