“Let your partner influence you,” advised some marriage manual I read in conjunction with some marriage. And, one must confess, it is excellent advice. Not always applicable. But handy to have around. And actually, I am beyond the influence state. I have accomplished the supreme Black Belt level marital state…of successfully divining the psychic condition of my partner. At times.

Jane was full of generous offers this day after Thanksgiving. Most of them spurred by my requests. And it all began with a discussion of what to do today. I don’t drive anymore so the notion of going down Highway 1 toward Half Moon Bay seemed alluring. So, I suggested that. But miraculously I picked up on something. Something in the marital air. The relational gestalt. That Jane was willing, but not bubbling.

I noticed it was hard to settle on details. Have brunch or lunch on the way? Pick up some fresh fish at Pillar Point? None of this was sparking enthusiasm on her part. Nonetheless, the colloquy continued, a loose plan having been determined, my morning exercise having been completed on the deck…departure delayed by Jane sorting out books to give away, while I briefly reclined in the sun by the greenhouse…and the two of us at the door, where I made one final inquiry about the weather, how cold was it really, was my brown jacket necessary…and did Jane really want to do this?

Whereupon she finally, lightly observed that she had spent some pleasant hours on the deck enjoying the sun, but it had gotten cold. And being the superb husband that I am, I extracted from this statement the salient psychological content around the words ”deck“ and “enjoying”…and more suggested than inquired…that we stay home.

Jane finally collapsed into a yes. Having been influenced by my partner, I congratulated myself on my own maturity. Noting that the tendency to take maternal care of everyone in one’s orbit is not exactly limited to Jane or limited to women…and giving gets old, for any human being. And that Jane is a self-proclaimed homebody…. And kvelling inwardly about how much I had learned in the last 77 years, I headed out the door in search of uncertain urban fortune. 

Thing is, I hadn’t been out in a couple of days. And while there is nothing wrong with this, I don’t like the idea that neighborhood life is passing me by. Finger on the urban pulse, I rolled down the hill, knowing more or less what the destination was. Glen Park Café. Oh, I threw a little psychic energy in the direction of La Corneta. Because of the general attractiveness and caloric dosimetry of the one super chicken molé taco…two soft corn tortillas, refried beans built in and the usual piling high of cheese and sour cream, with the chipotle salsa highly recommended…but I thought better of this. In terms of social experiences, our neighborhood taqueria doesn’t count. An awful lot of the orders are for takeout. And dining there, well, we’re talking plastic baskets on Formica tables with legs designed to thwart wheelchairs, and a busy lunch hour vibe, regardless of the time of day, people refueling. No, time for Glen Park Café.

Where nothing much transpired, save for some fried coconut shrimp and a small salad. And my recounting all this to Jane. I insist that they must upgrade their menu. Isn’t this the second year I have counseled them that, with the advent of colder weather, a soup of the day would be a splendid thing? I had passed this advice onto the owner, one of the owners, as I maneuvered my wheelchair out the door. I couldn’t discern a reaction. But thing is, Gentle Reader. I live in this neighborhood and I take some responsibility for it. And, yes, I must not take too much. After all, the normal mercantile ebb and flow will eventually take care of this situation, whatever this situation is.

And after all, the place is doing pretty well. Do they really need soup? Do they really need my advice? They always act as though they really need me…all full of welcome and good to see yous. Which is largely why I go there. And so, we weave the social fabric, while dropping a stitch now and then….