Farmington Avenue Follies


The day began with extinguishing brush fires and making attempts to catch up on the projects neglected in favor of Sunday’s speech. All proceeded well until the drive to Hartford this afternoon.

I had a general idea of my destination but decided to try it out on Waze, which had successfully navigated me to Ithaca last month. The big benefits are that it warns of traffic jams, police, and construction. It claims to find better routes than Apple Maps. That’s the theory. For reasons never determined, it dumped me in downtown, miles from where I was supposed to go. Then it wanted me to turn onto a road that was closed.

I ignored the rest of the directions and found the place on my own. Its tiny parking lot was full, so I headed around the corner to park on the street. I was into the turn when the driver of the car parked illegally at the intersection started backing into my car. He stopped just as I was about to blast the horn. Needless to say, I arrived at my appointment shaken and shaking. A large cup of sencha and good conversation restored me.

We conducted our business. I was about to pick up the menu as I hadn’t eaten since a.m. toast and yogurt and it was getting on toward 3 p.m. Then I looked at the adjacent table where a group of obese young people had dived into neon-colored martinis and other high-octane beverages. I watched as the guy closest to me downed his drink and ordered another.

Then something unidentifiable arrived, which they devoured with their hands. A few minutes later they each received enormous plates. French fries were the most prominent feature. I lost my appetite, again.

My brain is frizzled — that’s frozen and fried at the same time. Please forgive all errors. It’s been a long, 90-degree day. I’m curling up with White Noise for a good laugh.


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