For 11/14/96 Drummer Column, Gibbs, 697 words
My wife has kept up a busy social calendar since our nest emptied this September. It was always our pledge to get out more, to see the sights, once our children moved away, but it took awhile to create this new infrastructure.
When Adam, our youngest, left for Santa Cruz two months ago, we were first stricken with two unexpected emotions - loss and melancholy. Instead of hopping around the house like Wheel of Fortune winners in our birthday suits, we sat in our livingroom chairs long nights like catatonic out-patients, staring at the TV screen and waiting to check our email again.
When Kristi and her fiancé, Chad, who are living in Sacramento, recently bought a Basset hound, Susan immediately began referring to it as our "grandpuppy." We drove up to see it, and offered to baby-sit any time. We discussed what to buy the baby for Christmas. I imagined playing catch in the backyard with the pup, once she grew up a bit.
We both knew we had to find lives, quickly.
Susan knew exactly where to turn - the pink section of the Chronicle. She began circling events: the hotrod rally, Romeo and Juliet, the gay Medea. In her head she scribbled down restaurant names: Lulu's, Little Joe's, Sam Wo's, the Satellite Café. At last she settled on Picasso by Steve Martin, and Brennan's in Berkeley. She did all this in the time it took me to say, "Honey, have you seen my glasses?"
Next she went to the phone. With a flip of the Rolodex she paged to her LIPS list of ladies, members of the Living Intellectual Poets Society, a group formed locally by married women who needed girlfriends and a break from men saying, "Honey, have you seen my glasses?" She tapped out a few calls in no time and had four other couples joining us on our big nest tee-off.
Yes, every once in a blue moon, LIPS ladies will include their husbands in their schemes. They say it's to make us feel loved and important. We figure it's so we won't get jealous and form our own club called the LUGS, for Lounging, Uninterested Guys Smiling.
Actually, husbands of LIPS ladies do have much in common - all our wives have seen a dozen more movies and eaten in eight different restaurants than us.
Two days later, Susan and I drove to San Francisco to buy the tickets and save $35 in processing fees. Crossing the Bay Bridge under blue skies made it feel like old times, back when the kids were at zoo age. The skyline reminded us of our many Saturdays in the city. We caught up to our youth by the YBI tunnel, and by the 5th Street Off Ramp we had entered a new life phase, which would include Saturday nights in the city.
On the way home we veered right into Berkeley and stopped at one of our old haunts, Henry's on Durant Street. Our old, secret parking place was still vacant. We took dinner seated next to a woman and son from Venice Beach. The son was attending freshman orientation for spring semester, when the woman's nest would be empty. We told her of our experiences, and she listened wide-eyed, especially about the loss and melancholy. This part came just after her son got up and walked out to protest the long wait for his food. We drove the long way home.
A few days later, with the theater tickets still warm in her pocket, Susan made arrangements for late November to go vertical foothill wine-tasting. Then she and Jane West booked rooms in Reno for the Veteran's Day weekend, where we won on everything but the 49ers game.
Our catatonia chairs sit empty lately. We are learning to spend quality time together, going places we used to go, except for the zoos, amusement parks, skating rinks, arcades. We're still filling gaps in our all-grown-up entertainment options; Susan is still sending the kids email twice a day; I'm still unable to turn off the backyard speaker without Adam's help; however, we see light at the end of the tunnel. Or is it a train?