Sometimes a weekend brings positives:
Sunshine. Three 5-mile runs in 3 days. Red impatiens in the patio pots. Clean sheets. Spiked coffee at Cafe Arpeggio. Sunday nights when Monday is a vacation. And did I say sunshine?
Sometimes a weekend brings negatives (and in this case, really only one):
Cleaning up on a Friday night, driving the 20 miles to Wellesley for a first date, to get there and discover the date isn't there. Order Grey Goose Bloody Mary to appear chic and unaffected to bartender and busboy who both ask, several times, if I'm waiting for a companion before dinner, then try to pay and leave without ordering any only to discover Wellesley is a "dry town" and I must order food with my drink anyway. Drive the 20 miles home, 20 dollars poorer and alone, to read an e-mail the length of a novel from said gone-missing date .... about how the restaurant was too noisy and how he had wanted to call and suggest a quieter place but he had left my phone number on a paper in his other pants pocket and how because I arrived late he wasn't sure if I was coming so he just went home .... but hopes to eventually re-make a date when he gets back from a work trip and a vacation to Florida .... on June 12 ... if I'll allow him.
I thought about all these things this afternoon at the best possible place to think about everything -- Nantasket Beach
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when the temperature is 75 and sunny and the tide is warm enough to walk in and there is 3 miles of the tide, on top of soft white sand, and it takes 2 hours to walk that much, and it seems not to matter that dating with any degree of success feels harder than an Everest ascent, lately, especially when I'm grateful to live only 30 minutes from the wickedly endless Atlantic, which is so much bigger and amazing than anything I can offer up.