A Lunch and a Dinner
Yesterday was a nice day for eating in public.
It began with an e-mail from the nice development folks at Wesleyan, asking whether I'd like to have lunch with them? I promptly replied in the affirmative.
I couldn't imagine what they'd had in mind; I'm not exactly a "big fish", as it were. I barely qualify as a little fish. Then, I remembered the Katharine Hepburn pillbox I've been trying to donate to the Film Archives: http://johnwesley73.livejournal.com/258844.html
Previously, I'd invested in a tiny, satin-covered, ark for the pillbox; I shoved them both into my coat pocket, and hopped on board the "Q" train for the trip to Central Park West.
I arrived late, so, just in case this was a secret "interview" of some sort, I probably started off with a bad impression. There was some initial confusion caused solely by my tardiness, but, once we settled into a booth at Sarabeth's, things went smoothly.
They'd brought out the big guns, not just Michelle Dube, regular old development officer, but, also her supervisor, Christine Pina, who, according to her web profile, is constantly scouting for "major gifts". My immediate thought was, "They must have me confused with Neil Clendenin."
We were there for nearly two hours while I explained the provenance of the pillbox. It's about the size of a doll's teacup and made of procelain. It's my hypothesis that it originally was a gift from Hepburn to her long-time friend and companion, Spencer Tracy. She had no use for pillboxes; she detested medicines. Tracy, OTOH, had survived a major heart attack in his early sixties and was prescribed nitroglycerin pills until he died of second heart attack at age 67 -- with Hepburn in the next room, the night that it occurred.
She kept the pillbox at her bedside, decades after Tracy's death, inches from his photograph. It was of very little practical use -- its hinges had long since broken. And, then there is the issue of its inscription, "A Token of Love". So, unless someone, somewhere thought a broken article for which she had no use would make the perfect gift for her, logic dictates it was a "token" from Hepburn to someone else, and Tracy was its most logical object.
Moreover, the implications for what the pillbox must have been a reminder of, every night thereafter, are sad and just a tad horrific.
Christine and Michelle sat transixed while I told the story. Our waiter came and went several times as we demurred ordering. I still haven't mastered the art of eating and talking at the same time. Sarabeth's has a lovely salmon and eggs benedict breakfast that I highly recommend. But, beware that it is drippy and rather deliciously runny. Not the sort of thing you want on the end of your fork while trying to make a good impression. I managed about eight bites before declaring myself "full".
We talked a lot about Wesleyan and what a superb job Barbara-Jan Wilson and her staff have done over the years, often on shoe-string budgets.
After lunch, I returned to Brooklyn to prepare a pot-luck contribution for the LGBT teen shelter at Trinity Lutheran. I actually wound up eating dinner at Bistro Night at St. Michael's. And, sure enough, Alcoa and LaPasionaraII were there. They seemed to be making the right connections.
I toggled between Bistro and Trinity Lutheran, spending about a half-hour heating up my contribution and then catching the tail-end of the St. Mike's Social Concerns Group where Alcoa seemed to be making himself at home.
It began with an e-mail from the nice development folks at Wesleyan, asking whether I'd like to have lunch with them? I promptly replied in the affirmative.
I couldn't imagine what they'd had in mind; I'm not exactly a "big fish", as it were. I barely qualify as a little fish. Then, I remembered the Katharine Hepburn pillbox I've been trying to donate to the Film Archives: http://johnwesley73.livejournal.com/258844.html
Previously, I'd invested in a tiny, satin-covered, ark for the pillbox; I shoved them both into my coat pocket, and hopped on board the "Q" train for the trip to Central Park West.
I arrived late, so, just in case this was a secret "interview" of some sort, I probably started off with a bad impression. There was some initial confusion caused solely by my tardiness, but, once we settled into a booth at Sarabeth's, things went smoothly.
They'd brought out the big guns, not just Michelle Dube, regular old development officer, but, also her supervisor, Christine Pina, who, according to her web profile, is constantly scouting for "major gifts". My immediate thought was, "They must have me confused with Neil Clendenin."
We were there for nearly two hours while I explained the provenance of the pillbox. It's about the size of a doll's teacup and made of procelain. It's my hypothesis that it originally was a gift from Hepburn to her long-time friend and companion, Spencer Tracy. She had no use for pillboxes; she detested medicines. Tracy, OTOH, had survived a major heart attack in his early sixties and was prescribed nitroglycerin pills until he died of second heart attack at age 67 -- with Hepburn in the next room, the night that it occurred.
She kept the pillbox at her bedside, decades after Tracy's death, inches from his photograph. It was of very little practical use -- its hinges had long since broken. And, then there is the issue of its inscription, "A Token of Love". So, unless someone, somewhere thought a broken article for which she had no use would make the perfect gift for her, logic dictates it was a "token" from Hepburn to someone else, and Tracy was its most logical object.
Moreover, the implications for what the pillbox must have been a reminder of, every night thereafter, are sad and just a tad horrific.
Christine and Michelle sat transixed while I told the story. Our waiter came and went several times as we demurred ordering. I still haven't mastered the art of eating and talking at the same time. Sarabeth's has a lovely salmon and eggs benedict breakfast that I highly recommend. But, beware that it is drippy and rather deliciously runny. Not the sort of thing you want on the end of your fork while trying to make a good impression. I managed about eight bites before declaring myself "full".
We talked a lot about Wesleyan and what a superb job Barbara-Jan Wilson and her staff have done over the years, often on shoe-string budgets.
After lunch, I returned to Brooklyn to prepare a pot-luck contribution for the LGBT teen shelter at Trinity Lutheran. I actually wound up eating dinner at Bistro Night at St. Michael's. And, sure enough, Alcoa and LaPasionaraII were there. They seemed to be making the right connections.
I toggled between Bistro and Trinity Lutheran, spending about a half-hour heating up my contribution and then catching the tail-end of the St. Mike's Social Concerns Group where Alcoa seemed to be making himself at home.