1) Throughout this lovely week away I had been waking naturally between 6-7 AM; the advantage to this was being able to enjoy the most beautiful part of an August day in Palm Springs, the dawn. No complaints from me!
1a) Today the dawn came with a difference: an absence of caffeinated coffee. The decaf was delicious . . . but its impact was felt later.
2) This PSP visit was almost entirely incognito; I didn’t alert the faithful to my plans, and initiated no get-togethers. (I hope this has not led to offense.) Today, my last full day in town, came my one independent social outing, to meet the mother of a friend at Sherman’s. Our meeting was absolutely delightful — to appear as cool and elegant as she did at the height of desert summer is the mark of a true lady — and despite my being challenged by the increasingly oppressive acoustics and a gathering headache, we had a wonderful conversation.
2a) The occasion did, however, make me hyper-conscious of my table manners. The hearty Sherman’s-sized Cobb salad served me nearly overflowed the plate, and it took more concentration than usual to keep from getting a speck of it onto the table.
3) It was my intention to get in some shopping after lunch with one of my hosts — I had committed no Acts of Retail thus far — but by the time I got home my head was near splitting in half. Remember what I said about the decaf? There wasn’t enough ibuprofen in the world to solve this problem. I spent the afternoon either in bed or pacing the floor.
4) But like a miracle I rallied for a final cocktail hour in the pool — just something very mild — and then our long-anticipated farewell dinner at Farm on La Plaza. My indisposition had led my friends to worry that we might need to cancel the reservation, and I regretted having caused that much distress.
4a) As a chronically early person who is subject to the whims of the MBTA, one adjustment I constantly have to make in Palm Springs is that you really can be anywhere in ten minutes, even the airport. And so it was for our delightful little dinner. It felt like we left the house in the shadow of the time of our reservation, but even with a whisper of trouble finding a parking space, we got there exactly on time. Sometimes you really do just have to let go and let God.
4b) Farm is, appropriately, like a Spanish-style farmhouse of the 1930s, and we were shown into a small brightly whitewashed dining room hung with desert landscapes of 100 years ago and only five or six tables. The room was full when we got there, but gradually emptied so that we ended up shutting down the place.
4c) A cluster of alstromeria on the table reminded me of ushering at the wedding of friends when I was in graduate school — also in August, come to think of it. The bride had French-braided her hair up into a knot at the top of her head with a cluster of white alstromeria and (I believe) a few white ribbons trailing down the back. She looked absolutely lovely, but the day was so hot and her hair not quite long enough, that it all disintegrated not long after the reception started and she just had to put back her hair with a barrette.
4d) The real table manners challenge of the night came right at the beginning, when we three launched into the special appetizer: a succulent baked Brie topped with hazelnuts. The cheese had been removed from its rind and was served in a shallow bowl, very much like dip, but with insufficient utensils for elegant consumption.
4d.i) Worth the challenge though. Absolutely delicious, would definitely order again.
4e) The dinner was quite lovely: for me, a French country salad (the super-thin beet slices were shingled at the bottom of the plate), filet mignon, and the chocolate and caramel “sphere” which was really a dome, but still amazing, all washed down with a charming rosé.
5) That night was, as I recall, the official night of the full moon, a super moon. As always, she was more beautiful than any photograph I could take — but it didn’t stop me from trying again.
EPILOGUE: Travel Home
1) This morning I did set the alarm so I could write my pages, finish packing, and enjoy a final dip in the pool before my friends carted me off to the airport for my noon flight. They made my first summer visit to the desert memorable for all the right reasons.
2) Through security I was not the only male subjected to a pat-down. Tedious.
3) On impulse, I bought a small box of cactus candy in the Phoenix airport, because I remembered a colleague from Ye Instytytte bringing back a box to the office about 35 years ago.
4) Flying home, I finally turned my attention to reading about my September destination, Portugal.
5) Landing just before midnight, I took a cab home with a Venezuelan cab driver who has been in Boston 23 years. He was very nice, not too talkative, and already knew about the Amory Street shortcut — which really proved he’s been in Boston all this time.