I wanted to thank all of you for giving me such good advice.  Again.  I am so lucky to have friends of your caliber. 

I’m not sure what’s going on.  Sam’s not calling and the last time we talked –If it were in person he would have been running out the door — he couldn’t get off the phone fast enough.  I had to say good-bye for him because that’s one of his things is that even when he wants to hang up, as in he’s starving and he needs to enter the data for the day — he has a brilliant system that involves entering daily stock prices into a database that computes the percentage of change from the day before — he can’t say good-bye.  I think he’s been so lonely in general and then to have someone to talk stocks with, he’s not gonna run out of stuff to say for a long time.  We have been talking for two hours at a time, at least once a day.  And now nothing. 

I know my laugh upsets him.  I laugh hard.  As in big.  He must think I’m laughing at him.  When he called the last time and asked about the cancer he did it in such a point-blank way that I burst out laughing.  Mostly out of nervousness because of what I was going to have to tell him.  And the last time I was totally laughing about myself.  He was asking what part of the suburb I had lived in, north or south.  I hesitated because I couldn’t remember.  No one who lived there ever used north or south and because it wasn’t true north or south it never made sense to me.  Okay, I have a shitty sense of direction and until I got a car that said what direction I was driving, I never knew.  Now, of course I live on the other side of the city where everything is lined up all square and you don’t have to guess.  So anyway, I could hear the shock in his silence and said something like you and I are pretty different.  He responded with the most blunt thing I’ve heard him say: “you’re different.”  I burst out laughing and could hear him squirming.  At which point I said good-bye for him.

That was Sunday.  It was odd that I didn’t hear from him yesterday because I left a message asking about a stock.  Really it was an excuse to see if I’d freaked him out.  He didn’t return the call.  Finally, tonight I called and was surprised to hear his wife’s voice still on the recorder.  He’d joked on Sunday, saying he better take it off if he were going to have women calling him. 

Even if he decided we weren’t a match, he’s not the kind of person who would just disappear.  I am pretty sure I nipped any sort of romantic interest he may have been entertaining.  I shared some stories that probably had his eyebrows raised.  But still, I wouldn’t think he’d stop all contact.  I called him back a second time, thinking he may have lost my phone number.  He doesn’t have call waiting so I doubt he has caller ID.   I joked that if he weren’t coming over Friday, he’d better tell me so I could stop cleaning.  Still nothing. 

So maybe all that fantastic advice was all for nothing.  You should have seen me.  I’d read one and go that’s it.  That sounds right.  Then I’d read the next one and think, no this is better.  By the time I got done reading everyone’s I was even more confused.  Now I feel like I’ve lost a precious friend.  And I only knew him 10 days.

I’m asking for more advice.  And I don’t even feel bad doing it because over the years, I’ve given you more advice than you ever wanted, I’m sure. It’s a protected post, kinda personal in spots.

I’m not sure why but I started editing the novel last night.  I mean I’m not sure why last night.  It’s a good story and my insecurity about writing a Black man is gone, now that I know Rudy.  He’s a total fit for the character.  I believe he and I had our last conversation the other day so I feel free to use him now.  Plus he told me I could a long time ago.

It being my first book and having begun it as a lark, for Nanowrimo, I didn’t spend any time dolling it up.  I just told the story.  I thought this second time through would be all about making it beautiful but all I’m doing is cleaning up messes.  My progress is evident, as I see mistakes where before I saw perfection .  My question is should I be lingering over each chapter, embellishing now, or should I whip through the pages, fixing the tenses and tightening it up?  I have a better feel for the characters now than I did in the beginning chapters so I am rewriting lots of the dialogue.  My sense is that I should do all that and come back a third time, after a break where I attack the memoir.  Then I would be fresh to do all the scenery and flesh out the characters.  Or does it make more sense to complete one chapter at a time?  Help me out Jer.

You’re not gonna believe this but I finally met a stock buddy.  I was driving to church when the jazz station announced a concert at the Elks club.  I’d never been and was curious.  The address was right down the street, “if you can believe that” the announcer joked, it being an unlikely venue.  It was what I expected.  The median age looked to be 70.  There was a guy who had to be 100, WHO WAS DANCING.  I was the youngest but there was one man about my age and he asked me to dance.  Turns out he trades much the way I do.  We talked for a long time last night after we got home, getting online and comparing notes.  Oddly enough, I went to bed depressed.  I wanted him to be more.  I wanted him to be a possible candidate for love.  His wife died a year ago.  His kids are grown.  He’s SO nice.  He has hair and lots of enthusiasm and I like the way he thinks but I’m not attracted to him.  He suggested I come over next Friday night because his buying and selling system is something I’d have to see on the computer to understand.  I told him “since I don’t date anymore, Friday nights are open.”  I can’t remember what exactly I said to drive the point home but he came back with, “We’ll see.”  Again, I like the way he thinks but he just doesn’t do it for me.  I only seem to like tormented types who drink too much or players who smooth-talk me.  When I woke up this morning I realized that it would be dumb, after finally finding a stock buddy, to mess it up with romance. 

I played recorder with the group this morning.  By now Margie has accepted me and the others really like having me.  The wife encourages me to play soprano and I don’t get why but my presence seems to give her more power in the group.  Somehow I diffuse Margie’s lead.  For whatever reason it feels like a more balanced group now.

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this but I started cooking for cancer patients.  It’s a real good fit for me, and I’ve been working for a young woman who only eats organic now so I’ve learned new ways of flavoring food.  But she’s doing so well she doesn’t need me anymore.  I was supposed to start today, cooking for a family who, oddly enough, live behind the first patient.  He up and died yesterday so I don’t think that will be happening.  She said she might need me to cook for her and her daughter, though, because now she will be going back to work and her family will be leaving.  They had come from out of state to help out.  Either way I’m going to continue doing this work.  I love it.  I love cooking and feeding people something they can digest.  I can tell when I make them feel better, listening and consoling and just bringing a little cheer into their lives.  Once you get some good food into people and they get back a little of their energy, that gives them hope.  It’s all about hope.  That was for you, Paul.

I pulled out of my driveway and noticed the neighbors chatting at her mailbox.  I think they’re both in their early 70s.  He’s single and has lived across the street from her and her husband for years.  I had the jazz station on and it was honkey-tonk piano.  When I realized they were both in their bathrobes, he with no top, I stopped and lowered my window.

“Hey, you two, pretty sexy.”  I turned up the music, gyrating to the beat.

It was below freezing but neither acknowledged being half-naked. 

“Where’r you goin’?” he asked.  His bathrobe was more open than closed and the grey, chest hair almost looked styled.

“I’m going to pick up a recorder.”  He gave me a blank look so I held up an imaginary one and wiggled my fingers.  She knew what I was talking about.  I drove off and they were still yakking.  Then the Marian McPartland show came on.  Her voice sounds 80 but she plays piano like she’s hot.  I thought what is it with these old people?  Hell, my mother just came back from snorkeling in the Caribbean with her new boyfriend. 

Even for January, 27 is cold here.  I was bundled up in my snow hat and mittens, driving across town to meet Margie at her shop.  She’s loaning me her tenor.  I was thinking the streets looked pretty bleak when I noticed a brilliant colored tree in someone’s yard.  The last time I saw it, it looked like all the other trees.  But someone had stood out in the freezing cold and tied magenta-colored ribbons all over its bare branches.  The shock of color was beautiful but as I thought of the hours it must have taken, for there were as many ribbons as there would have been leaves on this old tree, I thought they must be insane.  When I wondered if they did it to make the world a happier place, I laughed out loud.  There’s probably another explanation.

After I picked up the recorder I was hungry and, being in a part of town I rarely get to, I went to a cafe I’ve always wanted to try.  It shares a name with my ex, and that has deterred me until today.  You could sit up at the counter, where it was warm, and watch the cook. She was half my age but twice the cook.  I don’t know how she juggled all those breakfast orders, flipping omelettes, shaking homestyle potatoes.  She’d give them a shake and then a flip.  It was a galley kitchen and she must have had eyes in the back of her head because she did all this while dodging the traffic behind her.  Presentation is everything and they had it down.  She’d put the fruit in a bowl, which would be obscured by a stack of french toast or hefty blueberry pancakes.  On the fruit would go a dollop of Nancy’s Yogurt but what looked like creme anglese would be hidden..  Over that she’d slice bananas and then sprinkle the whole thing with strawberries.  I could imagine people’s surprise, dipping into that sinful delight when they expected more yogurt. 

I watched her baby some eggs.  I thought they were coddled but she called it “basting.”  Have you ever heard of this?  She heated up the oil and then went over to the hot water and added almost as much.  She’d fry the eggs but wouldn’t flip them.  At the end she wiped the eggs off with a napkin, pouring out the excess liquid.  She was a marvel to watch, using both hands and her stomach or whatever other body part was closest in the maneuver of getting warm plates and hot pans over to the counter.  She had saute pans overhead with someone’s wilted spinach resting on the stack and another pan in the oven with sausage on hold.  The toast was on the grill and the bacon was keeping warm, dripping through a grate at the edge of the grill.  The eggs were cooking on the front burner with another set in back at a lower temp.  She did breakfast for four all at the same time.  As soon as the plates hit the counter they got garnished and were whisked away by a  waiting waitress.  Four people in that tiny kitchen moved together in a dance they do each morning.   

I’ve been collecting quotes from The Daily Guru, and I went there looking for one which might suit my happy day.  I found a line by John Bunyan, which is close enough:  “Do you sense the peace and contentment that can come from an appreciation of one’s place in the cosmos?”  I know Emily does.

The following is protected only because I’m writing about people I just met and since some of you are new here I don’t want to take chances.  If I know you and you’re not on my list because you have a new name or something, let me know.

This month’s Featured Grown-up’s topic looks fun.  We’re to tell something about ourselves that nobody here knows.  The first example was “Are you an amazing musician?”  I’m neither amazing nor am I a musician but when I was 10 or 11 my dad brought home some recorders and we all learned to play.  You know, those wooden flutes?  Pretty soon my parents had joined the American Recorder Society and strangers were coming to our house bringing instruments I’d never heard of like viola de gambas.  I was the oldest and come to think of it the only kid who learned to play.  Eventually I switched to flute and my younger sister took up the cello but once a month people would come to our house and often I would get to sit in with the grown-ups. 

When I went off to college there was a group of professors who got together one afternoon a week in the music department, and when I discovered they played Elizabethan music I asked if I could sit in the next week.  School was only two hours from home so I retrieved my old recorder and for a brief period spent some more time being the only kid in the group.

I’ve been going to church on Sundays and last month there was a baroque concert.  Sure enough, there were two recorder players.  The reason I went was because the week before I’d been listening to Christmas music on the classical station and all of a sudden I recognized a piece we used to play.  I missed that music. Those times in the living room with my parents and the beautiful music were precious to me.  Normally, being at my house wasn’t so great. 

Last Sunday I was at the church coffee, and I ended up meeting a woman my mother’s age who plays recorder with a group who meet Monday mornings at 10:00.  It was obviously time for me to play again so I came home and did a search on Google.  Turns out there is a couple who teach at the college here and they were the ones performing at my church.  They live ten minutes from my house and teach classes on Wed night.  I don’t know if I’ll need a class as I found a music store, a recorder, and the original book my father bought me.  I’ve been having such fun playing again but the dog and cat run for the garage.

Can you believe it, those few of you who are still stopping by?  I was feeling bad about you having to navigate past all those old comments.  The deal was I wanted to keep that post up until I found a stock buddy.  I should have made all my previous posts private, taken the picture of my dog off and enabled the feed so I could get hits from Google. 

Actually, I AM thinking about going public.  I’m starting a website about using food as medicine.  I don’t know how interesting that would be to any of you.  Because I’d use my name I would keep the content pretty focused.  Maybe a little chatty. 

You can tell I’ve been missing you.  I’ve started making the rounds lately, saying hello to special friends.  I spend so much time here, sitting in front of the computer all day watching the market, that I didn’t think it was healthy to spend all night, too, like I was.  But if I had a purpose…