The Newcomers introductory meeting was last night. That's the group for people new to the Santa Barbara area to meet each other. (You're kicked out after two years.) It was not as dreadful as I feared, although (a) we were made to wear name tags; (b) a few attendees could totally star in a Newcomers mockumentary; and (c) there might be nothing I like less—which is saying something—than a meeting that begins with everyone sharing a few words about him- or herself. I suspect that's how you're greeted in hell. Last night, the emcee even said people could take up to 30 seconds, and there were 50 of us. Luckily, almost everyone kept it brief. Adam went before me, without introducing me as his husband and stealing my line about the farmers' market, so I was left making a joke that we're married, not brothers, which went over about as well as you might guess. At least I didn't mention drinking as an interest, like a lot of people did. ("I like wine—a lot of wine," said one.)
Will we meet anyone through Newcomers? I don't know, maybe, it can't hurt. I do think starting a friendship is easier if you're coming at it from the same general place (i.e., knowing no one). Most of the "committees"—subgroups about shared interests, such as bunco, golf, and foreign policy discussion—are not for me, but I could see us going hiking or kayaking. My mom will be chagrined to learn I won't be signing up for the contract bridge committee; she's convinced the game is a terrific way to meet people. The problem isn't just that I don't know how to play bridge, or want to, but that when I looked around the room, I was drawn to the people who are younger than I am. I can't quite persuade myself that the appeal will be mutual.
While the blue asterisk on my name tag is a nice touch of flair, I didn't do it myself. It indicates that I'm a "newbie," in my first 90 days of membership. Technically, we haven't joined yet, though. One of the things I love about Adam is that rather than just sign up now, he wants to game the system a bit by waiting till after he goes to Amsterdam and we both go to New York, so we can maximize our newbie benefits.
P.S. Eventually, I'll run out of trees to rhapsodize about. Until then, here's the Wardholme Torrey pine in Carpinteria, across from the Lucky Llama, the café I visit after swimming in Carp. From Atlas Obscura: "It started as a seedling in 1888, planted by local Carpinteria resident Judge Thomas Ward as part of a contest to see who could grow the largest Torrey pine tree. The Wardholme Torrey Pine now stands a proud 126 feet tall, with a 130 feet branch spread and a more than 20-foot circumference, making it the largest known example of its kind." Last week, I was staring up at the the tree, noticing the many nests, when I saw two great blue herons walking along a branch. Impossible to get a photo of them, alas.
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