SOCIAL LIFE

Staff Dinner for 6 at Elisabeth's a success, although Dominick got lost and went up North St instead of East St so we got off to a rather delayed start while we talked him in by phone-- but a jolly night despite the occasion, and food excellent, and portions huge, so Outside Bob, who rates places by the amount of food on his plate, was happy. 

Plus the borrowed Saab started, afterwards, which made me happy, because we'd had some issues on the way to dinner when I stopped to collect Dawn (Bonnie's predecessor) and it died, no electrics whatsoever save the alarm blaring and a flashing light on the dash saying something like "FULL THEFT ALERT!!!". So we got out of the car, locked, unlocked it, got in, tried again. And did this again. And again. And then I rang Tory the owner, for advice, who was driving and couldn't hear me too well, but then suddenly the car decided to knock off being a silly bugger and kicked into action--and off we sped. 

So, as I said, after dinner, all OK, I get us back to Dawn's, who lives down an unpaved road off the mountain road, I drop her off, keeping the car running--in fact barely giving her enough time to get her feet out before I was shooting back out of the drive--and off I go, up the hill in the dark towards the mountain road where, within 30 feet of Dawn's, a big black bear ambles across my path, so I brake, then carry on towards the main road, where, as I go to make the left turn off of what feels like the top of Everest it's so steep, the gearshift knob comes off in my hand and sails into the backseat and the electrics conk out, including headlights. So. Will it start again,  no. The trouble, now, is that, while I would like to go through the rigamarole we did in Dawn's driveway i.e. getting out, locking, unlocking, pretending we're starting from scratch--I am loathe to do this in the dark with some bear nosing up my skirt. And my phone has fallen out of my purse and is somewhere on the floor of the backseat with the gearshift. And no inside lights because no electrics.

I groped around and eventually got them, tried the car, no juice, tried again,  sat at the top of Schultz Road for 10 minutes in the pitch black of a Berkshire night, hoping no car would be whipping across the mountain road and sheer the front end off of Tory's Saab, thinking "Hm..". I began talking to the car, telling it that I was, in fact--although it may not SEEM so--getting into it for the very first time ever, that I wasn't stealing it, and finally that I was in fact, Tory herself, that it was only confusing me with some asshole because it was too dark to see. I then opened the door (3 inches, enough for a bear claw, yes, but I was quick)  and locked and unlocked it a few more times, and, at long last, hooray, the electrics sprang into life, we had lift off, and off I sped towards home. Last time I take The Staff out to dinner.

Tonight's "thank you" dinner at the Dreamaway Lodge (Laurie, Ken, Tory) was fortunately less eventful car-wise, primarily because I had traded cars with Tory again and had the Trusty Subaru back, which I think she is now selling, so I will get the Saab back soon. For WHICH I AM ETERNALLY GRATEFUL, DON'T GET ME WRONG (she reads this) and I'm sure, in time, the car and I will reach an understanding and in no time at all we'll be sitting around the driveway laughing and honking at all the stuff we used to get up to in the old days.

On The HOUSE FRONT--looking GOOD. Two more carpets up in bedrooms, more lovely hardwood floors revealed. Ken still busy excavating more paving stones around the house. And he and Bob cleared 99% of the garage, including a mouse which had been nesting in a drawer full of string and which jumped out of the drawer after we'd hauled it into the driveway, nearly sending me over the ridge. 

Laurie and I now attacking photo albums. I think have almost finished Family Heirlooms, Ephemera and General Vintage Meticulously Saved Crap: everything now documented, copied or photographed, listed, labelled, baby shoes, dolls, flour scoops, telegrams, recipes for preventing croup, and what seems like every birth or marriage certificate from every relative going back to 1832 in Grabs, Switzerland--and I can tell you this, having spent three days at this now and my back a mess from bending over photographing you name it--I have decided I hate every single one of these relatives for even existing. And especially Carper Vetsch for having 11 children, and 3 named Jacob.

I am busy, but find myself overcome, at the oddest moments, by a sadness that is all consuming. It passes. But lingers there, underneath all the sorting the pitching. 

I am so grateful to have Laurie here, who manages to be efficient and inventive and intuitive and fun all at once and still finds time to create little art projects in the bedroom--I just saw she and about a dozen small picture frames up there she's glueing Peg's leftover costume jewelry onto--and they look fabulous (honest). Not sure what I'll do with them all, other than maybe trace Casper Vetsch's great great grandchildren down and say "Love from Guess who" but--am sure, like everything else, they will find the right homes. 

And listen to this, or maybe I said this already, no idea, but Laurie's taking the gold mounted Mask of Agamemnon for her sister in Ohio, who's always wanted one, would you believe. Laurie currently has her eye on a piece of filthy old vintage 1920 linoleum she found in the attic. I love Laurie.