A birthday dinner

Wednesday night means Betty and Judy go to dinner. No question about where to go tonight. Friend Jeannie, with whom we always celebrate our June and July birthdays, invited us to see her new penthouse at Trinity Terrace and then have dinner on the sixteenth floor. Jean, who’s been joining us for dinner lately, went with us—a jolly foursome of older ladies who don’t feel so old. Hope we don’t look it either.

Got to admit I’m one of those who is afraid of heights—it’s not enough to say I don’t like them. I’m terrified, and I panic, sweaty palms, light head, and all. Christian teased me that I would have to “gut up” and do the elevator, which I didn’t mind at all if I wasn’t the only one riding it.

The penthouse has a northern view—you really feel like you can see forever (what’s that line from Oklahoma?) but the patio is, ahem, small. No way I was setting foot on it. The way Christian described it, I thought it would be deep, and I could hang back. Nope. I looked from the safety of the living room. The apartment is spacious and lovely, with a kitchen I’d love to have—probably half as big as my whole cottage.

Jeannie’s dog apparently loves it. I asked about midnight trips outside but apparently, they haven’t happened yet. Mabel, a poodle/cocker mix, knows to sit back and wait for the elevator, to stay in the back of the elevator until Jeannie tells her to come, and just where to go for the dog area. She loves high-rise living.

Dinner was amazing—we each had a different salad, and I don’t know which was best, but my Caesar salad was one of the best I’ve ever had. Plenty of very flavorful dressing. Others had the caprese salad, with a grilled peach no less; a wedge salad, and the crab bisque in a bread bowl. All

four of us had the scallops on risotto, an appetizer, for our entrée, and we split a sinfully rich piece of chocolate cake with a mocha icing in which the coffee flavor was strong. A fine meal in good company, impeccable service. And they’re used to dealing with walkers, etc. When I went to the restroom I was figuring out how to open the door and not lose my balance—a voice behind me pointed out the handicap button. Just push it and pouf! The door opens. Every public restroom should have that.

We came home overstuffed and lazy. Would I live there? No. I wouldn’t want to live that high off the ground. I like having my doors open and letting my dog run in and out. But Jeannie is in her element and loves it. She’s met people, made friends, involved herself in activities. What’s sauce for the goose and so on….

I’d like to visit real often—and she has promised that we can.