Sunday, September 19

Specs - Scott & Cindy

Last night I return to bed, pitch dark, and hear that horrible sound all eye-glass wearers dread: the crunch underfoot. My '50s style retro tortoise shells irreparably damaged but Madeleine makes an effort to secure the snapped leg with duck-tape, modelled. It don't quite work but I love her for it.

Scott and Cindy join us for dinner - they are favorite friends and Scott recently on the Board of Trustees at Brown University and the acquisition committee at Rhode Island School of Design museum (when we first met I followed up by sending him a paper Katie wrote on the museum during her semester at RISD; our friendship sealed). Scott has excellent stories of Providence, Rhode Island, including his post-Brown house on College Hill whose roof the highest point in the city. He and a friend hit golf balls from a balcony to Prospect Terrace Park without, "and I have no idea how" Scott says, breaking a window or two (I once took girls to Prospect Terrace for its surprisingly romantic views of the otherwise disrespected city; the giant pest-control bug on I95 does not help). He and Cindy had great parties and this was the 70s so I do not doubt it for a moment. Scott recalls encounters with Providence's colourful mayer and both Scott and Cindy have been to Cafe at Brooks where I washed dishes the summer of freshman year (most fun job I have ever had) and know the restaurant's owners Jack, Nate and Saul who were creepy, unattractive, Jewish brothers who owned most of dodgy Foxpoint including my Jr. year house - I never did get my security deposit returned, go figure. Scott and Cindy began dating at 14 and here they are in our dining room for us to enjoy. Scott turned 60 the year I hit 40 and we celebrated with a magnum of Champagne.

Eitan: "Yes! Yes! Yes! Arsenal and Sunderland tied 1-1!"
Me: "Pretty exciting, huh?"
Eitan: "Thank you, God, for this gift."

Eitan: "Would you like an omelette?"
Me: "No thank you."
Eitan: "Just so you know, the pancakes were a failure."