Carbs and my very first friend

I think a part of me knew when I made the reservation that last night would be the night that I stepped over the line into carb land. I mean, how do you go to an Italian restaurant and not eat pasta? Especially when it's freshly made pasta called "tagliatelle alla bollognese"? It just rolls off your tongue. I couldn't resist, and my God, it was so worth it. Absolutely deliciously perfect tender yellow pasta with the most mouth watering meat sauce - a combination of beef, pork, and italian sausage ragout.

After the, uh, indiscretion last night, I needed to go for a nice long walk today, so I went down the other side of the hill to Polk Street in Russian Hill. At this point I still hadn't had any face to face conversation with anybody (since Nick left at 5am for a flight to Seattle), so I stopped at Peet's Coffee for a latte. The cashier had apparently talked to way too many people today, so she was no help. I sat outside with my drink and watched the people walk by. At a table next to me an interview was going on for what sounded like an Account Management position in the Internet industry. The woman was totally bombing the interview and I briefly contemplated walking over to their table and handing the guy my business card, but decided against it. I'm not ready to give up the sweet deal I have going on with SOS, even if it might mean human interaction on a regular basis. Plus I couldn't imagine that the woman on the interview would have been very happy about the whole thing.

So I called Nick to keep me company for a few minutes and while we were on the phone a woman passed me carrying what looked like two very heavy grocery bags. She was older and hunched over, walking very slowly. She looked so determined, but also so taxed by the weight of the bags, so I asked her if I could help her and got off the phone. Over the next 45 minutes or so I walked with her back to her house with the groceries. Her name is Helen and she's 92 years old and lives on her own since her husband died 15 years ago. She goes out once a week to get groceries and besides that stays in her house because she lives up a hill and 50 stairs. She's got arthritis, she's a bit of a crochety old woman, but she's got perfect hearing, has a beautiful garden she takes care of herself, and a very clean house. She was born and raised in Chicago until she decided to disobey her parents and move to San Francisco where she met her husband and moved into this house and she's lived there ever since.

The whole thing was bizarre, but nice. I usually don't do very well with old people - it's so hard for me to go and visit my own grandmother in the nursing home. But I liked Helen, and maybe it's my own loneliness here that made me more sensitive to hers. I gave her my number and told her to call me if she wants to go grocery shopping again, and honestly I hope she does.