Friday, December 1, 2016.
No Show Business For Me.
My entire radio show this afternoon is pre-empted by a high school football tournament. This means that I could have joined the rest of NPAS in our concert tonight. But because I wasn't expecting to be available, I am woefully behind in my practicing. My brain simply has not embraced the music, and would cause problems for other singers. I feel guilty.
Mary Ann and I have lunch at Pontchartrain Po-Boys, where she gets a breadless oyster loaf and a salad. I order half a muffuletta, which is plentiful enough with its cold cuts, cheeses and olives to fill me up for the day. Really, even a half muffuletta is too much. MA picks on it too, and still can save some for later. Whatever hunger I have at dinnertime is satisfied by my finishing off the the remnants.
This is why dieting is so boring. It places the goodness of the food in second or third place after other considerations. I hereby apologize to any readers who may have put up with the three paragraphs above. Please know that this effect takes place when your humble dining diarist sticks with a policy of covering every day instead of just the interesting ones.
We buy two Christmas trees from Red, who has sold us our tannenbaum for most of the twenty-six years we have lived in Abita Springs. The Marys choose trees that have what they perceive to be flaws. Their definition of a sorry tree is hard to figure out. Half it's because they like to feel sorry for the distressed trees, and half to cut a better deal. But Red himself--he is on hand for the first time in many years--outmatched Mary Ann. He told of the class A quality of his trees, the cost of having them shipped, the by-the-hour wage he pays his people, and a few more unarguable points. "I guess I can give you the price you want," he says, "but then I'd have to give the trees away to you." I declare Red the winner, and we spend $20 more than MA had planned.
The second tree, by the way, is for Mary Leigh's new house. I remember well my first Christmas tree for my first solo house. The year was 1971. Not a living soul saw the tree but me.
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Saturday, December 2, 2016.
Mattina Bella. Dinner With Friends Who Like Cooking At Home.
Two or three times a day, MA tells me that I must get used to the idea of dining alone, because she can no longer eat with me until she loses fifty pounds or whatever her target is. Still she asks me to have breakfast with her at Mattina Bella. That places the onus upon me, but I understand the dynamics of this now. The breakfast is as superb as ever.
I have a radio show this afternoon, for two and a half hours--a long show for a Saturday. It goes exceptionally well. Where are all these people weekday afternoons?
Mary Ann and I are invited to dinner with our friends the Fowlers. They have connections with us from school days, both with Jude and with Mary Leigh's near-husband Dave. (Long story.) We have joined them in their beautiful home for dinner on numerous occasions--most notably on Mary Ann's birthday a couple of years ago, when both son Jude and the Gourmet Cellist Daniel Lelchuk made surprise appearances. That party will never been exceeded in its joyfulness, but tonight's was more fun than any other there. Veronica made her specialty dishes--steak with garlic butter, a beautiful salad, and a unique sort-of gratin of several cheeses. Two big red wines from South America.
We have never been much on inviting people to our home. In my many single years, I almost never did. I wonder why that is. No, wait--I know why. It's because throughout my adult life, something like 99.8 percent of my meals have been in restaurants. It's who I am. Things could be worse.
