A Night Out

We talked about Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt, Mike said he wanted to read it so I lent it to him.  I read it when my mom was with me.  I was in my room reading and got so depressed reading it that I would come out to her and say, “Mom, it has no redeeming value. It was doom and gloom and gloom and doom!  I did not like it.  I may have felt that it was too close to my grandparents’ lives; I didn’t want to imagine in my mind the hopelessness.  I was biased with my total Irish roots.

Mike was going to his mom’s house the next evening to play piano with a group that played together.  He described it as a classical group.  Most of the members were as old as his mom; he was the baby of the group but liked to play with them.  His family grew up on the mountain.  It may have been Rag Mountain.  I was so taken with the vision that he conjured up in my head that I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall.

He asked me if I played and I told him that I played guitar and sang.  He wanted me to play for him then and there in my house but I passed.  I told him that if he played his piano for me I would play my guitar and sing for him.  The deal was made;  I would drive out to his home and he would be my guest for dinner and then we would go to his house for a musical evening.

Mike lived in a circle of duplex homes. He complained about how the neighborhood had changed and that he wanted to move further west.  We took my van and drove to one of the local restaurants in town.  He had recommended it. It was Tarara Mill.  It was lovely.

Mike had a way of telling a story that would get me roaring laughing.  He had done the electrical job for this establishment and so he was pointing out his electrical talents and track lighting, very impressive.

The dinner was fabulous.  I enjoyed filet mignon and he had the fish followed by cups of coffee.  It was a slow relaxing feeling in the restaurant.  We just enjoyed the time to talk.

We drove back to the house and  there was the baby grand piano.  It dwarfed the rest of the room; it was beautiful.  I could have just spent some time staring at it.  Mike was an awesome player.  He played some Bach and Beethoven pieces.  He was so impressive.

I was feeling a bit out of my league.  This was sort of like I’ll give you a ride in my Lexus if you give me a ride on your Neon.  A deal was a deal though, I got out my guitar and tuned it up. Then I played sang him a few tunes.  House at Pooh Corner by Kenny Loggins and Four Green Fields by Tommy Maken and a few others.

Mike liked hearing me sing and I loved hearing him play.  It was just a fun evening.  We had truly enjoyed our time together.  I knew that we would probably see each other again as he would do the repair work I would need when I purchased a new home.

As much as I would have loved to explore a relationship or a few dates with him, I got the feeling that he was very used to playing the field.  I am sure that he looked at my sad life and saw a woman still dealing with her grief and her two kids.  I had a great time and that was the memory to keep and of course, his phone number which I used often in the future.

NOTE TO SELF:

1.      Beware of bad boys

2.      Intelligence is very attractive

3.      A sense of humor is essential

4.      Self-sufficiency is expected

5.      A lovely dinner with conversation and a treat at the end of the evening is a great date