Had dinner last night with my old friend S.L. and her artist husband, at their elegantly simple adobe-style house way up in the hills outside Santa Fe. She and I used to have lots of people, places, and things in common during our halcyon days in San Francisco, back in the wild '60's. I hadn't seen her for 30 years, but would have recognized her in a second if I'd seen her on the street.
S.L. is a former professional dancer and teacher (ballet), and presently a world-reknowned Pilates instructor. In her early sixties now, she's still busier than she wants to be, and in such demand that she travels all over the U.S. and the world, hosting classes and workshops for her enthusiastic following. Almost needless to say, she looks terrific and is in superb condition.
It was a bit of a chore getting there, but once arrived I felt I'd escaped to an island of refinement and intelligence in a world that grows daily more crass, vulgar, abrasive, crude, and willfully ignorant. I couldn't help feeling that the natural grace and elegance of S.L.'s manner of living is slated for extinction.
There'll be no room in the Brave New World for natural aristocrats.
Seeing her again was one of the most enjoyable parts of the trip so far, which I must say I haven't enjoyed as much as I thought I would. The problem is I haven't felt well, mainly because of constant fatigue. At first I thought it was the driving causing it, but I've rested two out the last three days. The only thing I can think of that might be the source of this discomfort is the altitude -- northern New Mexico is much, much higher than Palm Springs.
After church tomorrow, I'll be glad and kind of relieved to turn the nose of the Insecto Amarillo homeward.
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