Changing Seasons
Two Proud Mothers

Friday Night Out

I try not to make plans for Friday nights. I work hard during the week and by Friday evening, I am ready to throw on some sweatpants, have a quiet dinner at home with Peter and veg out. But it never seems to work that way. We have a concert series on Friday nights because we love the couple we go with, and Friday is better for them. Or we get an invitation to a party. Whatever.

Usually, I get my second wind when we go out and end up having a really good time.

This Friday night started badly. We missed a turn on our way to a take-down-the-exhibit party at the home of an artist friend and his wife who live in the city. After a futile attempt to get back on course, we ended up on the Expressway, and imagined finding our way back just in time to go home. But we got off at the first exit, pulled into a shopping center, called our friends for their address, plugged it into our GPS and were there fifteen minutes later thanks to the lady in the GPS who Peter promised to kiss upon arrival at our destination.

It turns out that we had a great time. We saw two sets of friends we hadn't seen in years and had no idea that they were also friends of the host and hostess. Then while talking to a complete stranger, I learned that his wife and I have similar jobs, know many of the same people and had heard about each other. She and I had so much fun talking that I was probably the last person to grab dinner from the buffet table.

Beat staying home in my sweats.


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Funny how "sweats" - we know them as joggers, symbolise letting down and being in comfort at home. Glad you enjoyed your evening out though.

Margaret Rader

I just want to say how much I am enjoying your blog.

I am a 75 year old woman who used to work for the University of California in staff personnel administration, so I feel some connection. I can't imagine still working into my 70's though. Good for you.

Thank you for these thoughts -- they resonate with me. I get your updates via email, but I should visit here more often. It feels more personal.


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