A long good day.

What a wonderful day! We met at the farmers market, both of us were late and exactly on time, that is, we were both later than our agreed on time by fifteen minutes. We often do this, rarely ever having good natural communications, our plans often fail in a fortuitous manner (so long as one or the other doesn’t get fussy about particulars and hold up the show to try and coordinate the show, that “one or the other” is usually not me:). She bought her produce fairly quickly, I was impressed. It seems she no longer wanders for hours, but has a set number of automatic vender visits, a few occasional venders on her list, and a she makes a quick assessment of the rest in an orderly and quick fashion on her normal route. She let me in on which strawberries tasted the best (she is usually spot on). So, I grabbed two quarts. I don’t generally buy other stuff there, I’m not a vegetarian, I don’t believe in organic, and I am probably not even an omnivore truth be told. Every once in a while some animal I am ingesting hungrily happens to be too close to some vegetable for me to pick out (it doesn’t actually have to be all that close, think hand grenade range). Green, white, red, yellow, I really don’t care, I’m pretty sure it can even be a little alive, somewhat snappy or creatively disinterested in being et (“et” is legal (means past tense or act of being eaten, or something close in Scrabble) much to the Q.O.D.’s regret; her game that I play yet despise so I use “et”, much to my joy). I also become color blind and slightly indifferent when I smell hot meaty somethings nearby.

Good to her word, she bought breakfast. Over our breaking of bread, we discussed the day and the details. We initially thought our destination was much closer, and discussed the drive time and route, according to our then understanding. We discussed what she was looking for. She gave me her details in a very girly way, I thought. This or that, or maybe and could be, but certainly not that unless… I think, I almost remember her saying something about something (I zone when she talks out her butt or it results in a headache). She just got off work, so she is like that. Well, no, she is just like that. We finished our meal, and having driven ourselves to our meeting points, we parted ways and returned to deposit our vegetal and or fruity finds to our perspective abodes.

It took me forever. I dropped off my red things and sorted what I needed for the day, grabbed it, and out the door. Then went to fill the X’s gas tank. Then I remembered she wanted printed maps, so, back to the house. Tick-tock, tick-tock, the clock incessantly moves in one direction. Finally, I started over to pick her up. On my way, I see two messages on my phone telling me she has called. First to check, then a second message saying she is too anxious to sit and has started walking to my place. In that last, she gives me some streets she’ll be walking along. Hmmm, like I know the streets, or even care here. I just know where I’m going and go. Though I know some are closed to traffic, but does she know? So, I head over the way that seems the most likely, while I give her a call. As it turns out she is home and of course she knew those roads were closed. *sigh* She has to know by now that street and road names and numbers are things I neither know nor care to know, and that she often does not know things she should.

The trip was a fine one. It was warm, after letting her choose between open windows and air conditioning but noting the manual suggests closed windows and air at highway speeds for best fuel performance, added to the fact that she is paying for gas, she chooses air conditioning and adjusts it just so… or, actually, I play with it for a few minutes until Her Heinous is comfortable. It’s funny, but I’m finally into open windows and no air conditioning now, around town or in slower speed areas for sure, even on the highways if I’m feeling flush (if only feelings paid for gas!), and so is she, usually. Why she differed today, I will never know. Especially after not wanting to even ride five blocks with the ac several days ago (and before I had converted to open windows).

The printed map suggested a longer journey then either of us had thought, and gave a time to destination of three and a half hours. I laughed at this, though cautiously… I’ve been wrong before. Without speeding or rushing, we made it in under 2 hours. Finding the place she wanted to visit was a breeze and we actually had fun doing so. I suggested a cross pattern search, which worked well, vectoring us in like driftwood in a whirlpool. I let her decide which way to turn some of the time, and decided myself a time or two. We found the street then the place very quickly. It just so happened that there was a decent restaurant around the corner. So, a little food, some tea, as well as coffee for the lady, a consummate coffee addict (and snob), and then into the targeted store we went. On the way to which we espied, and suspected a future visit to, a nearby soda fountain.

At the store she looked and prodded and complained and was quite unhappy. Imagine any over tired child trying to pick something even in her favorite store. I know not to rush, placate too much, nor does getting annoyed help. Simple advice, coincidental and relevant thoughts shared as background sound, and just being present seem to be the best help I can offer. She eschewed the man and woman who worked there, looked at everything three times, not liking anything, chose something or two, discarded one of those, then after a half hour or more of being fussy, she finally did as I suggested and spoke with the young woman working in the store. The story is more, but this is enough. All in all, it was quite better than some occasions, most actually.

Usually she asks for my advice only to reject it before she has heard it. I have learned that to guide her to the way of wisdom, I should recommend the opposite. Knowing when to suggest the opposite from wisdom and when to offer simple direct correct advise is a bit of an art when dealing with her. I’ve received glares from employees for my “bad advice”, a glare which fades immediately after working with her for more than ten seconds. A sympathetic look creeps into their stance towards me, and a little wonder and puzzlement seen in their visage when facing me. (How do you put up with this? I’d like to tell them that “this” is mild, she has mellowed. And, should I like them at all, perhaps I might baby them at times too.)

As we picked up her item, after an information exchange (she wants more information on her purchase), we put the purchases (I bought a toy) into the X and I was almost prepared to get going, as she seemed ready. We had seen the soda fountain ice cream parlor next to our eatery, and she had seemed to want to go to it after our shopping, but seemed instead ready to go home rather than have some dessert. This was not the case, so, we popped over for an chocolate ice cream cone for her and a cherry ice cream soda for me. Nice, cooling and collecting as well. Happy, cooled, sweetened, fed, and spent in money time and energy, it was time to turn the machine homeward.

All the way up and most of the way back, she was having me play one cd after another, listening to one song on this cd, ten songs on that one. She was searching for a piece but she did not know the group, title, or even bits of the lyrics. She was sure I had it, and I am pretty sure I do as well (just a feeling). We went through everything from Black Sabbath to Judas Priest, to Foreigner Four, to Deep Purple, and many others. She caught me off-guard with that last, knowing and liking a rendition of “Kentucky Women” by Deep Purple I neither liked, nor had even ever listened to long enough to recognize as such to my memory. She was clapping and having as much fun as any thirteen year old girl, listening to her weird music, in her own world. She might not trust my senses, or trust my wisdom, but she does trust me or she would never have that kind of fun around me. During the trip, it wasn’t the first time she had enjoyed as such, but for some reason and to me, it was the most poignant. Perhaps since I liked this piece so little, I noticed her joy the more. These were fun times.

I did not make it back for mass on time! Still, I did not rush up or back. There is tomorrow. Sundays are not my favorite though. It is formal, it is mostly attended by large families (who have their preferred and time honored seating, for the most part), and it is earlier than I prefer to be social. As well, there is the chance I might be pulled into a social hour. Not that I mind those, but at that hour, I really don’t want to talk to you or them. As well, as a single forty year old male in queerville, it is assumed that I like men or have been rendered androgynous.

Having to say, “No, dick is not my thing and hairy asses turn me on like a quick, sharp, unexpected kick to the balls. Beyond, viewing the former and receiving the latter have a similar effect actually, one mostly mental the other mostly physical as points of effect origin, I’ll leave you to figure out which is which. I have been disabled for 20 years, as such, I have been unable to catch or be caught by a proper lady. Though, I have known many rather unsavory, if pretty women, before I became devout. Should you need some “references”, just let me know. Maybe I should give the data to your husband, you look a little… well, tired.”, just doesn’t seem like a likely fix to this social indelicacy though I really really really want to say that. One woman even hinted at this by saying “Oh, you want to be with the men.” after I indicated I wanted to golf with some of the gents, or have a men’s coffee hour. As well, why would I want wives around, they screw up guy time, can not compete or even keep up in the sports I am interested in, and like I trust wives! I’ve known one too many wives, from before mind you. Bah! They’ll figure it out if they produce a likely female candidate and I promptly pump out a legion and a funny walking wife even before my little troopers. So far, no prospects. Though, like I said, this is queerville with dogmatic political correctness as it’s local law. And I am soooo politically correct. *scratches head* Go figure on the prospects. *laughs* No blood, no foul.

I have a busy day tomorrow, mass, a church event, and a drive home if I’m not shot (to my Mom’s). I will not be blogging for a bit, but will have a few items on my return. I’ll have to get the old girl a massage and a few chits for more if she likes them. She needs a treat about now, and something to look forward to which gets her out and about. Though she might have some other need or want. It’s difficult to know with her.