Tuesday, May 7, 2019

A Friday Night

In  a  life  filled with much time allocated to physical exercise and a fair bit set aside for work each week the rest of my day is dedicated to sleep as my bones and muscles continue the tedious and lengthy process of healing. That  leaves some time set aside to do something other than paying attention to Rusty. If music be the food of love, play on, Michael Robinson. 
Learning to live in a new body filled with metal plates and held together with steel pins requires patience with oneself as stamina is much reduced. An evening nursing a glass of wine combined with a glass of beer with dinner, leaves a trauma survivor like myself ready to pass out by 9 pm...So a gentle evening at the Gardens Hotel listening to Michael thump the ivories is just the ticket. 
And the Gardens Hotel has the self service wine dispenser of many years standing and it still works very well. I had a glass of dry Greek white, evocatively labeled from the vineyards of Santorini. I had no idea that place had room enough for lands  dedicated to the vine.
Michael had set aside a table at the back of the room for us with a bird's eye view of the piano. He was alone last Friday, his partner Eric was away invigilating university stuff where he works I believe, and thus left Michael togo a little while. I usually play ballads the pianist mused with a wicked glint in his eye, and proceeded to knock a few more spirited tunes with the loud pedal fully deployed.
He did not hold back. I wasn't sure our friends were in the mood so I offered them an out by suggesting we cut out to dinner. I was quite delighted when they didn't leap at the suggestion and we sat firmly in our seats until it really was time to leave and eat Thai food.
The day was overcast yet the heat was enough to keep visitor around the pool and in it. The views of course are lush in a hotel by the name of The Gardens...An American in Paris came belting out of the machine and floated around the rafters.
The hotel is quiet and genteel and very comfortable and filled with knick knacks at every turn.
MisoHappy on Southard Street was pleasantly intimate: 
 Chuck and I work out at the Broga Studio and we end up talking about the wild conversations Sean our instructor enjoys, a man of no filters and many opinions and a provocative sense of humor, Wayne his partner (in the yellow) is sick of Broga and tired of hearing about it so he and my wife decided spontaneously to start a knitting club to offset the exercise oriented conversation.
 I rejected twigs in lieu of cutlery preferring to stick (pun intended ) to my European roots, a culture that has long since embraced the fork as the most sensible way to eat.  Asians in Asia use sticks very effectively but in their culture the bowl is brought to the mouth. In our effete Western idea of good manners the plate stays firmly on the table but the chopsticks are used to convey the food perilously across our chets some distance to our mouths. Makes no sense, combining the worst of both etiquettes...
 The whole fish was excellent though even when eaten using twigs.
A culture laden night out in Key West. Sleep was welcome after all this activity.