Last night was what our nanny calls, "date night". My wife and I try to go out once a week and engage in adult pursuits. And no, I don't mean s-x clubs (the "-" is to hopefully avoid those searching for just those kinds of references). I mean, at minimum, an adult beverage, grown up conversation, and dinner without cutting up the food of the person sitting next to me. It can be very relaxing and is important. It's important to remember why you enjoyed this person's company before you had kids.

We went to dinner by ourselves after some friends bagged on us. They had a good excuse. He was admitted to the hospital with a an irregular heart beat (and should be just fine). We are, however, the harbinger of doom for dinner companions. This is the third couple in a row to cancel dinner based on health emergencies. One other person tore her achilles tendon playing tennis and another person's father died. I feel like in all good conscience we should not be permitted to make dinner plans with anyone else without first warning them and giving them a chance to reflect on the risks. That said, no one who ever actually made it to dinner with us has been injured in the dining itself, hangovers the next day excepted.

So we went out by ourselves to a lovely little place overlooking the Long Island Sound. Breezes off the water made for a comfortable outside dinner. What made the evening so memorable, for now, was the quality of the light. The light was so compelling as it changed with the sundown. The water looked different, of course, but it was the land that captured my attention. There was a little peninsula and cove across from my seat and the light on the trees and rocks was downright painterly. It made me think of chiaroscuro, the Italian painting technique by which you contrast light and dark to produce depth. The changing light from the sundown and the reflection of that light off the water made the trees look as if they were rendered by an expert hand with the shadowy bits throwing the sunlit bits into greater relief and contrast. It was very peaceful to sit there, cooled by the breeze, sipping from a bourbon and soda, and chatting companionably with my wife, who is a very interesting conversationalist.

All in all, it was a lovely night. Until the nanny rang my wife's cell phone to say that the alarm at the house was going off and they couldn't get it turned off. So, we went from relaxed to not in 2 seconds, rushed home, and fixed the problem. I think it was no more than a dying battery in the smoke detector. Harmony restored once more.

Until 5:17 this morning when I had an attack of the killer leg cramp in my calf. I actually found what sounds like a reasonable explanation for nocturnal leg cramps. That's why I'm up so early and writing a bit.

Have a great weekend, y'all!

Posted by: Random Penseur at 07:02 AM | Comments (9) | Add Comment
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1 Are you in CT or Long Island? I'm Bridgeport myself, and your description sounded a lot like the view from Knapp's Landing in Stratford. Too bad you had to cut the evening short, but it sounds like you had a wonderful time while it lasted.

Posted by: Tuning Spork at July 17, 2004 10:20 AM (k/aql)

2 So about those leg cramps, time you stopped wearing the high heels then? I too suffer from leg cramps (but only in my right calf) from time to time. I now keep a Homeopathic cure in my bedside table 'Hylands: Leg Cramps with Quinine' which I can reach easily enough when the cramps strike, they really help! Remember to keep out of children's reach!

Posted by: Mia at July 17, 2004 01:07 PM (hHa99)

3 Eat more bananas. Potassium? At least that's what my husband tells me for the leg cramps. I work for lawyers, so I can draft up a consent form for your dinner partners. Heh.

Posted by: Emma at July 17, 2004 01:52 PM (NOZuy)

4 The only time I get leg cramps is when I am pregnant...oh oh...could it be?

Posted by: Annie at July 17, 2004 04:43 PM (celwv)

5 May I suggest any libation with Tonic a good source of Quinine - help for leg cramps.

Posted by: Wicked H at July 17, 2004 05:07 PM (7TrL0)

6 I'm just amazed that you and your wife got out together! The last time dh and I went somewhere together it was for me to have X-rays of my knee. We did stop at the bagel hole on our way home though...does that count as a date? My dh also suffers from leg cramps. For reasons known only to G-d and the internet imps, I can't connect to the site you linked to, but hopefully I'll be able to tomorrow.

Posted by: Rachel Ann at July 18, 2004 12:23 AM (7A34+)

7 Wow! What a wealth of comments! I'll try to respond in some kind of order: Tunig: We are in lower Westchester, actually. So just down the coast from you in CT. It did cut the evening short. I had planned on romantic walk next to the water and holding hands. Mia: Flats make my calves look fat. Thanks for the remedy suggestion! Emma: I think your husband is right about the missing mineral. I love consent forms! Annie: I'd be making medical history! Wicked: Very interesting suggestion. That is the kind of self medication I like. Also has side benefit of being proof against Malaria! Rachel: I counts as a date if you felt date-like. If you had adult conversation and didn't use it only as a time to update your schedules and the kids schedules. What is a dh? Besides, designated hitter?

Posted by: Random Penseur at July 18, 2004 07:06 AM (X3Lfs)

8 dh, I believe, stands for "dear husband" or "darling husband". On a bad day, I suppose it could be "d_ck head." Sorry. I'll slap my own hands; I'm closer.

Posted by: Emma at July 18, 2004 04:29 PM (NOZuy)

9 Oh, good one. Odd, isn't it, how often the bad days pop up?

Posted by: RP at July 19, 2004 09:44 AM (LlPKh)

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Late night out last night with friends who we had not seen in a couple of years. Too much cheap Spanish red wine. Stayed up way too late on a school night. Ate too much excellent Turkish food. Came home to collapse in my bed only to be awakened three hours later, at about 3:30 a.m by a request from the girl child for a tissue. She needed her nose blown. I, of course, stumbled out of bed and immediately complied. I told her to go back to sleep and she sang, "ooookaaaay", at me. And wonders of wonders, she actually did go back to sleep. I settled happily back into my pillow and still warm duvet and began the process of going back to sleep. Then, from the other monitor, I hear, "da da da da da". A pause. Then more chatter. My wife, deciding that there must have been a Three Mile Island type incident in the vicinity of the boy's PJ's, valiantly dons the Hazmat suit and rides off to investigate. No hazmat incident. Just a little boy who's up and wants to play. He wants to play really badly. He delays for a long time accepting our kind invitation to return to his untroubled slumber. You may wonder, however, was your hero (read: me, the author) daunted by this yo-yo sleep/not sleep night? No, I shout triumphantly in return and thank you so much for asking. I am made of sterner stuff than this! When my alarm bleated its anemic electronic whine at 5:30, I promptly, without undue delay, jumped out of bed at 6:27. There's a lesson in this for all of us, somewhere. I think it might be that there's always going to be a later train you can take.

Speaking of going out late on a Thursday, by the way, when I was young and childless and living in New York City, Thursday night was considered connoisseur's night out. Then I think it became Monday night. Friday night was strictly for amateurs and the B 'n T crowd. Ever hear that somewhat offensive expression? It refers to those who need to avail themselves of either a Bridge or a Tunnel to get into Manhattan. There are a ton of social stereotypes bound up in that three letter expression. Some of them may even be true. But, I am so out of touch now that I don't know what night is hot anymore nor if anyone even use the B 'n T expression.

By the way, the couple with whom we dined last night? We met them shortly after the birth of the girl child in what feels like it has to be an only in NY story. My wife and I, faced with her impending return to work, placed an advertisement for a Norwegian speaking nanny in the Irish Echo, the newspaper of choice for those seeking domestic employment. We received something like 40 replies. I was thrilled, until I listened to all the voicemails stacked up on my cell phone. Then I realized that cultural diffusion had reached new heights. What else could explain why so many women were calling about the Norwegian speaking nanny position and leaving messages with the beautiful lilt of the West Indies and Jamaica in their voices? I am a big fan of that accent, I find it very musical. But it ain't Norwegian. There was one other message, however. It was from a guy who was also married to a Norwegian woman and they had also just recently had a baby. He said that they had not considered even advertising for a Norwegian speaking nanny and he wondered if I would be so kind as to send over his way the many women we considered and rejected for the position. I called him and explained that we received not one single qualified applicant and invited him and his wife over for a drink. They accepted and we have passed many happy hours with them since and our daughters like each other, too. I love this story. Anyway, they have now also sold their apartment in NYC and bought a house out in Westchester, one town over from ours.

So, here I am. Armed with Advil and coffee, I am off to convince two new potential clients that I am their man for the dispute they are having with their former hedge fund employer. I will not slobber on myself and I will confirm I have put each button of my shirt in the appropriate hole. Hopefully, they won't notice anything amiss. Wish me luck!

Posted by: Random Penseur at 08:35 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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I was overserved last night. I take no responsibility for any of my actions last night and I blame the bartender and my so-called friends. It wasn't my fault. Ok, maybe a little bit.

We took a friend out for drinks and dinner for her birthday last night. We met for drinks at Aquavit. (I am compelled to share with you this picture of the urinal at Aquavit which I found doing an internet search for the restaurant. I had no idea that restaurant urinals was the subject of such fascination and I post this in order to squick you out, too. Share the joy.) Aquavit makes its own flavored aquavits -- I particularly liked the lemon/mint one and we had a couple of those. We then went next door to a private club and had a little bourbon. Then upstairs for dinner, where we had two excellent bottles of wine. One of the best things about dining at a private club is that the wines are not marked up like they are in a restaurant. We drank, at about 1/2 to 1/3 the cost of a similar bottle in a restaurant:

Volnay 1er Cru 1996, Caillerets Ancienne Cuvée
Carnot
Bouchard Père & Fils

and

Vougeot 1er Cru 1996
Les Cras Domaine Bertagna

They were so tasty. And the second bottle was even better than the first.

Then, home late, up early, and back at work where I feel somewhat less than my usual sparkling self.

Note to self: drink more water before going to bed after nights like last night.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 11:23 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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