You Never Know

Talk about the mysterious you-never-know-what's-coming side of life: Yesterday when I got up, I felt a bit out of sorts; couldn't decide whether to go to the BCNN breakfast or not. Nancy wasn't able to go and I didn't know anyone else who might be interested--did I really want to go alone? However, I got dressed, made up, grabbed the hat I had bought at Goodwill for two bucks (this was the "wear a spring hat" meeting) and went out the door. I was game, but not too enthusiastic.
Got there to see the usual room full; there are about 300 members (all women) and about 150 come every month. Got coffee and a few nibbles and looked around to find an empty place. Saw one, asked if I could sit and Awas cordially invited to do just that.
These are round tables and to my right Sat next to a woman I've met before; she's the member who will help people with the electronic stuff. She had on a straw hat bedecked with old floppy disks, other small components, with a little string of (lit) lights wound around the brim--very cute. I chatted with her for a bit, then turned to my left.
The woman on that side, Diane, was wearing a jacket with "Heritage Square" patches on it. I asked about it and she said she was a docent for that historic house in Oxnard. I remarked that my daughter and I had visited the Dudley House on Sunday. I described the little skit the docents had presented (impersonating early owners of the home) and mentioned that I'd like to look into the possibilities there, as I act myself. At that, Diane said she was sure the organizer at Heritage Square would like to hear from me. She whipped out a piece of paper and asked for my contact information, then gave me the organizer's name. Hey, neat, and I'm looking forward to hearing from her.
I had a great time chatting with Diane, who incidentally, said they had presented a musical for which she had written the dialogue, called From the Gilded Age to the Broadway Stage. Hey, my kinda gal!
The program itself was pretty blah: "poetry." Yes, yes, I know I'm the critical type, but I love poetry. This, not so much. The presenters read the original poems, all but one of which was free-form. Now, it may be bitchy to write it, but my belief is, if you're going to write non-rhyming poetry, make it prose instead. I agree with Robert Frost, who said writing poetry that doesn't rhyme is like playing tennis without the net. Anyway, it was tedious, but I sat through it.
Being so buoyed up, I decided to go from there to the Ventura Center. Since it was Wednesday, I thought I'd say hello to Chris, whom I met at the widder group; she volunteers there. Went, got my ticket--the second to last Beverly said and while I was standing there, somebody got the last one. Went into the dining room, saw Chuck and sat down with him, as which point, I noticed an elderly woman to whom Beverley was talking. The lady seemed forlorn when Bev told her there were no more tickets. Bev left, but the poor lady still stood there sadly. Well, I'm a pushover--I gave her my ticket.
Walked out and to the desk to tell Bev who told me the woman has Alzheimer's, she comes in all the time, and usually takes salad, then falls asleep in it. Hans, the director, came out and said the same. I apologized and they were nice about it, but gee--doesn't anyone take care of the poor soul?
I wasn't that hungry anyway, so went to the library and got a book recording Arthur Schlessinger's journal, seemingly from the year one. Went home, made a big salad for lunch, then rode to Ellen's to get some of my stuff out of her garage. While I was there, Gregg came in and kindly carried the heavier boxes to my car.
Got an e-mail from Carolyn. Happy day, she'll pick me up at noon and we'll go up to LA to see David and Polly--yay!