“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 851 (Thursday) – meet up. or not

The following was written in 2013 and because lately, I just can’t drag new words out of myself night after night, here it is again. 

~ ~

During one of my final days of living in Tennessee I was talking to a coworker (yes, whining) about how lonely I had been for much of my time in Clarksville, and especially the final year. There were hundreds of acquaintances I would see as I ambled alone through the monthly Art Walk, but when it came down to it, there were very few people whose phone numbers resided in my cell phone and upon whom I could call to meet out for lunch. And of the few, most were married with kids and otherwise occupied, so it felt like I had nobody available to entertain me. I even attended two concerts alone due to a lack of companions and I didn’t die of humiliation, which is good to know for future reference.

My coworker said a lot of single people he knew used the online Meetup site to find groups and activities. Well, crap -- if I’d known about that earlier, my last year in hell might have been more tolerable!

As part of my return to New England, I began pre-scouting for jobs and a social life. I looked into Meetup, checked off a bunch of preferences and quickly found a book club. Once you join a group, the system suggests other groups in your geography based on the interests chosen, so it wasn’t too long before I found a second book club.

During one week in April I had two book club meetings, which involved plowing through two novels. The first group’s meeting had great promise -- it was on a Wednesday night in an Irish Pub Restaurant and the author was going to attend. I had my first Scotch Egg, a dark beer, and the good fortune of sitting next to the author so I could actually hear the discussion over the din of the nearby diners, but the later arrivals at the far ends of the table were not as lucky. This book club was mostly couples and mostly in their 60s or older so I felt like a conspicuous misfit singleton (a common scenario for me). On the bright side, I was one of the younger people assembled at the table. 

Actual photo of most of my
social life, 2013-2022.

The following night was the other book club, which meets at a coffee house that has the good sense to also serve wine and craft beers along with the menu of light meals, pastries and gelato. This group is all women, younger than the other group, and infinitely more fun. I still don’t feel like I fit in, but at least I'm reading current books and it’s a shorter drive for me to be a misfit.

Around early June, a new local Meetup group formed -- people aged 40-60 seeking to get out of the house and meet up at various places and events. It sounded promising to me -- while not a singles group, it might be a way to meet new people including some single guys.

The group scheduled its first meet up at a bar/restaurant on a Friday evening with the instructions to meet “at the chalkboard.” I managed to convince a gal pal to come with me to scope it out. We arrived early and parked ourselves at the corner of the bar to scope out the group and decide if we would actually join them, because we were nervous about meeting a large group of new people. Heck, I sometimes get nervous with people I already know. As we sat at the corner of the bar, eyeballing everyone who entered the restaurant, we finally noticed a guy sitting under the massive chalkboard. Then a woman arrived. And another woman. And more women. The assembled group of about a dozen was finally seated at a cluster of tall tables in a corner of the bar. It looked like one guy with a harem.

We decided we didn’t really want to be part of the estrogen festival and headed to a Chinese restaurant for a pu-pu platter, chalking up a loss on the meet up thing. At least we were out of our respective dwellings for a little while, escaping an oppressive heat wave and enjoying some air conditioning.

As the summer progressed, the Meetup group posted several more events at free festivals and local fairs (which I did not attend). One planned meet up that caught my eye was for a tour of the local craft brewery. This was right up my alley -- beer! -- plus the potential to meet a man who appreciates good beer instead of the crappy yellow fizzy water bottled by too many large breweries.

I tried to wrangle a gal pal into coming to the brewery with me, but one was in Michigan, and another was in Vermont. So, on the appointed day, I managed to not wimp out, screwed up my courage and headed to the meet up. Alone. The RSVP list, which had peaked at about five people a week earlier, had dwindled to three by the day of the event -- me, another woman, and a guy.

At the brewery, I headed to the “Tour Waiting Area” where I was the only female. Instead of being thrilled at the prospect, I was too self-conscious to speak. I visited the sample window for a tiny beer glass and a taste of Strawberry White beer from the woman who would soon be our tour guide. Luckily, two more women arrived (with their significant man people) and finally, a tall guy entered and asked me if I was with the meet up. Hmmm.... I wonder if it was my obvious aloneness in the room that gave me away. At least I had now someone to chat with. And he didn’t look nearly as much like an axe murderer as his little photo on Meetup. I noticed he did not get a free beer sample. Nobody who looked like the third Meetup RSVP arrived. 

The tour began and we passed around jars of various types of barley, looked at photos from 1994 when the brewery operated out of a barn, and then moved over to the door to see more historic photos. Before heading to the bottling area, the guide instructed us to take a pair of safety goggles. As she was discussing the various sizes (child/small, medium, large), she pointed to me and said, all chipper and nonchalant, “You can probably use the child size.” Thanks for the shout out lady. I appreciate you calling attention to my tiny pinhead.

We moved into the production area, where there was another tasting sample. I tried the Nut Brown, even though I already knew I liked it. And that’s when my Meetup buddy casually mentioned that he doesn’t drink. So much for my fantasy of comparing notes over the various beers and how this brewer’s product compares to that of other breweries. Seriously? Leave it to me to meet the one guy on a brewery tour who doesn’t even drink beer.

~ ~

 And in the nine years since it was written, not much has changed. Ok, maybe a few things have. Emails arrive from Meetup about events, but I don’t sign up for any because I can’t remember my password for the site. The job search was successful – first Kohl’s and then the Bank, but I gave up looking for new friends. It was too hard, and it seems I’m probably just not friend material and better suited to acquaintance level non-relationships. I recently found a local book club, and yes, I still drink beer. No, I haven’t been on any more brewery tours. 

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 850 (Wednesday) – prep work

This morning started rough. I was out of bed 30 minutes early and somehow managed to leave the house 10 minutes late. In the parking garage, I realized I had forgotten to grab something for breakfast. Hot on the heels of no the breakfast realization was recollection that the phone charger had also been left at home. Oops.

Pre-cake healthy stuff.

The day took a quick turn for the better with the knowledge that we were having cake in the office to celebrate a coworker’s birthday. Not too long after my healthy lunch of leftover sautéed veggies with mushroom, kalamata olives, and cheese from Tuesday's supper, it was cake time. 

Cake guilt was alleviated with the reminder that there had been no breakfast, and the idea that healthy lunch offsets cake. The cake was a delicious moist, chocolate cake with light, sweet, creamy frosting. The grocery store bakeries really put out some good cakes. I took no cake photos. I’m slipping.

The day was productive. For the second day, I was deep in preparing an Excel workbook to track media planning with formulas and rollups from individual pages to a summary sheet. It’s not the most complicated workbook I’ve ever worked on, and luckily, it’s an adaptation of an existing workbook so the tedious prep work of building the sheets was already done by someone else long ago. It’s been a while since being immersed in spreadsheets and I’ve missed it.

The title of most complicated workbook was several jobs ago when I worked in corporate treasury management. We had a monster workbook with pages for each our 43 subsidiaries and a summary sheet that calculated totals from all the subs. The worst part about that old one was getting 43 offices to understand that “Do not alter the worksheet” meant just that. Month after month, we’d receive worksheets from at least one naughty manager (usually Renzo in Italy), who chose to delete rows of the sheet because that office “didn’t need to use those rows” and when the data was transferred into the workbook, the rows didn’t align, formulas would be broken, and time would be required to figure out what bits of info went where. So frustrating.

The old workbook is filed under the personal memory folder called “things I don’t miss from that old job,” and the workbooks from subsequent years are tucked away in the “thanks to that big old monster workbook, every one since then has been easier” folder.

Quick supper.

So far, the trickiest part of the new workbook is deciphering radio jargon of 2009 that doesn’t appear in any of our current schedules. That’s where the “hide column” feature has come in handy. It might eventually lead to the “delete column” command, but I don’t want to be hasty or premature.

After all the cake at work, supper was light. It was a repeat of the Scala bread, tomato, basil, provolone, and mayo of the other night. Quick, tasty, and all ingredients on hand. The weekend’s preparatory grocery shopping sure makes weekday life easier. 

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 849 (Tuesday) – books

Many books waiting
for my time.

Book Club has been great to get me reading again. In our last meeting, the question was asked about what we like to read, and my answer lately is “whatever the book club says to read.” 

Thanks to the book club, I’ve already read more books this year than in the several years leading up to it. Before this book club with the rule of “fiction, in paperback,” I tended towards non-fiction, including How to Argue and Win Every Time, which was bought during the flirtation with the idea of law school back in 2008 or 2009 and has sat unread on the shelf ever since. I bet if I'd read it, I could have spared myself some lost arguments. There are also most of the Malcolm Gladwell books, several of which have been read, and others which patiently sit, collecting dust and waiting for my time so they can be read.

Today’s Facebook memories for this date in 2012 had a post about a book and an airport. I was traveling back to Clarksville, Tennessee after visiting cousins. The airport departure gate area in California was full of people reading books. A popular title of the time was 50 Shades of Gray, and I spotted many people reading it.

One particular woman sat my departure gate reading 50 Shades. She was already there when arrived, and after I had been there for a while, she got up and made an inquiry at the desk. I heard the airline desk attendant tell her that her flight had already left. She was so engrossed in her book that she missed her flight. I didn’t find that book series to be very well written, but it sure was popular. And it’s always fun to tear into a book that can’t be put down, but pay attention to your flight announcements, travelers.

I really miss being a kid in the summer, off from school with the available time and absence of obligations to just lay around and read all day. Back then, I had a rule that the current book had to be finished before another could be started. Based on the number of half read books in a stack right now, it was a vaulable rule. 

As a kid at home in the summer, I would read in any and every room in the house and also the front porch. I would read in the car on the way to our annual camping vacation, in the tent, and on the beach. At Mummu’s, I was the queen of her second-floor porch, lying on a cot in the sun, reading a book, eating Pringles, and drinking Sprite. Those were good times. 

If only there was sufficient free time as an adult to get through the unread books pile. A couple months should do. Just like summer school vacation.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 848 (Monday) – leisure day 2

Reclining on the glider.

A second consecutive day of leisure was enjoyed. The morning temperature was comfortable and breezes were wafting in the front porch. The street was quiet and peaceful, and it felt like the best parts of camping on the better days when the air was dry and fresh and the days weren’t sweltering.

Quality time was spent in the enclosed porch on the glider. The morning featured coffee and a book, and in the afternoon the beverage switched to ice water. 

There was contemplation of the ceiling and the project list item of painting the paneling up there in the Southern tradition of haint blue. Panels in blue and the cross bars in white? The whole thing in blue? If the cross bars and edges are in white, which should be painted first? It’s not exactly like the ponderings of the great Greek philosophers, but it's all I had for today.

During one trip inside, I caught the scent of the basil plant on the kitchen counter. That triggered the thought of tomato which flowed into thoughts of lunch and suddenly there was a tomato, provolone, basil, and Scala bread sandwich for out on the porch. It all felt very much like being on vacation.

At one point in the early afternoon, while lying on the porch glider, a slightly familiar feeling began to creep in. It was actual, bona fide relaxation. It’s been so long since the last time I felt physically relaxed it was almost hard to identify. 

Contemplating the
porch ceiling.

The evening capped off with fireworks all over the neighborhood. One street over, across Beaver Brook, and finally in the street directly in front of my house. The Nuisance House had a party, and this year’s expenditure in fireworks seems to have been pretty hefty. There were screamers, and twirly ones, and some that sounded like distressed birds. Or maybe after 20 minutes of it, it actually was distressed birds. Winston hid in the bathroom.

Some of them seemed to fire sideways and I’m curious to see by daylight the effect on the vinyl fence along the street. I tried watching from the front door, but it was hard to see the high ones, and the volume of crap raining down in the front yard made it feel unsafe to go outside. 

I could tell from the illumination that the deck on one side of the house and worse, my car parked in the driveway on the other side, was covered in blast debris. When it was all over, the neighbor folks did the first and most neighborly thing I’ve seen them do, possibly ever. They hauled out a leaf blower and spent a half hour cleaning up the street and my driveway.

By 10:00 all was quiet again. On my street anyway. Another major round began going off across the brook in Centralville and Winston retreated to the bathroom again. Tomorrow night is the City fireworks display, which was postponed from Saturday, but at least those are sent up further away from the house. It should feel less like The BungaLowell is under direct attack.

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 847 (Sunday) – leisure day

Sunday leisure.

It was a gloriously leisurely day free of commitments. It was the day of my dreams.

There was a lot of sitting around and playing Scrabble GO and reading news with ideas swimming in the background. Fuzzy little seeds of ideas that might eventually be dismissed after a period of percolation. Others may turn into something. Time will tell. 

While I lounged on the couch, Winston lazed about nearby on the rug. We were creatures of leisure. 

Life maintenance tasks were performed on no particular schedule. Poop was harvested from the yard. Sheets were washed. Food was prepared – real food, sliced and cooked in a pan. The July book club selection was nearby, but sat untouched. 

Food and a book.

Mad Men played on the TV most of the day, thanks to Prime. I watched the entire series when it first aired and loved the clothing and décor. I want the dresses, and I would be thrilled if gloves made a comeback so I could hide my dry, veiny, and elderly hands.

Watching Mad Men again is like seeing it for the first time thanks to remembering very little. Damn, Don Draper beds a lot of women. And women had an entirely different life in the early 1960s and except for the clothes and furniture, I wouldn't want much else of it.

Today’s favorite relatable show quote took place in Season Two, episode Three, at the stables where Betty Draper goes riding. There is a younger man, Arthur, who rides there, not very well and mostly to please his girlfriend.

Betty: “I like being around you. Don’t say anything to ruin that.”

A Pause

Arthur: “You’re so profoundly sad.”

Betty: “No. It’s just my people are Nordic.”

I had to pause, rewind, and enjoy that exchange more than once. So, so relatable. There have been too many real life instances where a romantic interest in someone has been erased after they kept running their mouth and inadvertently talked me out of it. And the people assuming sadness thing? There have been too many times being on the receiving end of that one. 

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 846 (Saturday) – country day

The weather forecast was for potentially wild weather, but the morning wasn’t bad. Not weather-wise anyway. The morning was derailed by a random raging headache that took several hours to shake. Winston’s dining antics continued and it took a couple hours and the addition of mixed frozen vegetables and then later, diced cheese before he would eat his breakfast.

Antiques shop on a Saturday.

There was a ride westward to Mom’s. The traffic wasn't terrible and the rain was minimal and sporadic. Mom and I visited three or four antique shops and saved tons of money by not buying anything. Almost every shop featured a board with words painted on it, and some were pretty funny, like "I run a tight shipwreck." 

One shop featured many creative elements mounted to the ceiling including window frames wrapped in ivy, rusty bed springs festooned with lights, and frameworks of grapevine and twigs. I’d seen the bed springs stuff in a shop in Worcester a few years ago and thought it would be cool for my porch. I suspect it would be harder to wrangle solo than the ceiling mounts I used to install at Kohl’s where there was the benefit of a great rolling ladder and an arsenal of gadgets and hanging pieces. 

In that same shop, there was a neatly arranged display featuring dishes and old tins. One was for Huntley & Palmers Ginger Nuts, which I looked up later and learned they are biscuit, which is the fancy-sounding British word for cookie and is not at all what my 12-year-old brain was imagining ginger nuts to be. 

The only things we ended up buying were yellow squash and zucchini at a combination farm stand and antiques shop, and lunch at a small café.

It's noisy. I'm coming up
there with you.

The three-dollar squash and zucchini purchase ended up costing a bit more after I realized that there needed to be something else to go with it. On the way home, I stopped at Market Basket for onion and tomato for the squash stuff, plus a roasted chicken to chop up and make bone broth with the carcass, all to add to Winston’s meals so he’ll eat his expensive prescription food. It wouldn't be a trip to MB without a zillion other items landing in the cart, and this time it was butter, cheese, mushrooms, and more and now there is hope for the lunch situation during the week.

The Lowell fireworks and festivities had been postponed from tonight until Tuesday due to the forecast for severe weather, but the weather ended up being fine. That didn’t mean it was quiet, as the Nuisance House across the street was setting off fireworks. A dog up the street was barking like crazy and Winston seemed like he was trying to act cool, but he kept jumping up onto the couch and sitting close to me. It was unusual, but his snuggles are welcome whenever and however he wants to ration them out. 

“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 845 (Friday) – downtown lunch

This morning before work and after finalizing plans with Mom for the weekend, I saw my daily horoscope in my email. It opened with “A change of scenery could be beneficial today” and mentioned "venturing out of town." Ok, the plan for different scenery in another town might be one day off, but it still felt like an affirmation of the overall plan.

At 10:55 this morning there was a weird horn sound outside and I walked over to the window to see what I could see. There was a trolley crossing Merrimack Street. It wasn’t the “Ding ding ding went the bell” sound in the Judy Garland Trolley Song. It was more of bleating sound, but suddenly I wanted to ride the National Park Service downtown trolley. As much as it sounds like a good idea, this did not happen today, but now there is a summer goal.

LaLa Books!

At lunchtime, there was a walk to pick up my book order from LaLa Books. It’s The Woman in the Library, the July book club selection. The walk to LaLa was a terrific chance to thaw out from the highly effective air conditioning that had me freezing all day. I was cold because I accidentally spaced out and violated my one steadfast wardrobe rule – layers. I had on only a long sleeve button front cotton shirt that was perfect for an 80-degree day, but not so great in a chilly office without the cardigan I usually have but forgot today. 

After the bookstore, there was some aimless wandering. I paused outside a gallery café that has a menu in the window. There were no portable lunch items in the fridge or cabinet today, just ingredients. This had me foraging for lunch downtown, because there was not even bread for a peanut butter sandwich, my usual fallback for a desperate lunch situation.

Current favorite shoes.

While debating the merits of the café sandwiches against the memory of the falafel sandwich I’m not even sure is still carried at the market I haven’t been to in ages, or pizza from a couple blocks further away, a National Park Service Ranger passed by and complimented my red wingtip oxford shoes. They are a pretty swell pair of Cole Haan shoes, super comfortable, and the best under $20 consignment store purchase in ages. The red shoes are the current favorite shoes. Today anyway. The title transfers regularly.

The winner of lunch choices roulette ended up being Subway. Again. Again, as in the second time this week eating a 12-inch Veggie Delite. I was in the same lunch boat on Monday. Some lessons are never quite learned.

Except for the being chilly part, the day was quite a good one. And now it’s the long weekend, which includes time with Mom and an astrologically encouraged change of scenery. And hopefully some grocery shopping before the office days next week. Oy.