Tonight was dinner with relative strangers on a porch lit with by-my-standards-funky-but-by-Julia-standards-tacky globe lamps.

Our conversation had a certain charm. How we cycled through loud laughter and comfortable, contemplative downtime. The way the participants actively listened, rather than readying future anecdotes to be inserted at the next pause. Police scanners and German advertising; Manhattan apartments and how ridiculous it is to think that in the entire Star Trek universe, the only difference between humans and aliens is a crinkled brow.

And though we were among crickets and extreme overgrowth and trees all around, the evening had a particularly urban feel.

So late that it's early. I treated my body so poorly yesterday, though thankfully, as I told Julia, "The best thing about tonight is that there were no cocktails involved." A yogurt. Two tomatoes. A slice of toast. One modest cup of coffee. Extreme lack of sleep and deadly expectations. Toll taken.

And just when zzzzzs and dreams were a reality, I found new cds waiting patiently in my mailbox. Harry James and Louis Armstrong. Bittersweet nostalgia and those thoughts of him.

And who am I to say no?

This morning, after dropping off my car to have the tire replaced, I decided to walk to work the back way, through the Beaver Brook Reservation. There's something odd about walking to work through the woods... swinging a lunch bag, a briefcase... the wet morning grass sneaking between the toes peeking out from my platform sandals.

It reminded me of how I used to dream about working in Boston's cyber district, mere blocks away from my apartment. I pictured sunny bike rides to work and leisurely walks home at dusk.

And, of course, of the time that I finally convinced Todd to walk through the bizarre office obstacle course park next to MEDITECH during lunch. Uneven bars and rings and balance beams hidden among the tall, tall trees.

I can't quite figure out why it feels strange to do nature type things in the middle of a workday. There is a certain clash that feels uneven and sneaky. But it really bathes a "typical day" in an unusual light.

Erika and I are finally trying the Five Seasons tonight on Beacon and Washington. Vegetarian. Mood lighting. Looks all orange inside when I drive by.

Just the mention of "vegetarian" reminds Erika of Seattle's fabulous Flora and the exquisite (and now legendary) lavender cookie. You'd be surprised at just how often this cookie works its way into her conversations.

She said she's going to try not to have enormously high expectations. I told her from now on I was going to call her high expectations, "lavender cookie expectations".

Don't we all have some of those?