Ronni Bennett, whom I admire enormously, has written many blogs about ageism, prejudice against older people. I’ve certainly felt it; I know what she means. But now I feel like I’m also a perpetrator. People are friendly here in Pittsburgh and often talk to each other without formal introductions, particularly on the bus. I actually made a good friend by talking to someone on the bus. A few weeks ago a woman started talking to me on the bus to class. She gets on several stops after me and goes to a class in the same building. I had seen her before but never spoken to her at length. We had long conversations on two separate trips, first on the bus, then sitting and waiting for classes to begin; we arrived very early. At first she seemed an obvious candidate for a new friend, she lives nearby and is looking for someone to "do things with." But the second conversation was a rerun of the first; we never covered any new ground. So I’m not anxious to make this new friend, and I’m feeling guilty. I think ageism has a lot to do with it. She may be older than me; she’s certainly slower. We don’t seem to have any common interests. She didn’t remember what she told me two days before.  I have a strong suspicion she really wants to be friends because I drive and she doesn’t. I’ve been taking a later bus, the last few days, but I think I have to go back to the early one; I got to class late today. I guess I’ll continue feeling guilty; she obviously needs a new friend, but I also believe I’m entitled to choose my friends on the basis of common interests, not need or guilt.

A new neighbor moved into the building east of mine. I met him the day he moved in; haven’t seen him since. But I’m very curious. His lights are on when I go to bed, around midnight, they were on at 5:30 this morning, then off at 6:30. Maybe they were on all night, or maybe they woke me when he turned them on at 5:30. In any case, he’s not getting much sleep. My upstairs neighbor says she has seen a cat in his windows and that he cleans up after eating. Maybe some day I’ll run into him and find out more. I know only a few of the neighbors, although more than in the big building in New Jersey. My upstairs neighbor has a dog. She’s only been here since May but seems to know almost everyone on the street. No, I’m not getting a dog.

I went out for dinner last night with some of the people from my Tai Chi class. There were ten of us, six born and bred in Pittsburgh. We went to one of the new nationally franchised fish restaurants. I generally prefer locally owned ethnic restaurants, and my dinner cost twice as much as I usually pay, but I expected that. The surreal began with the teacher coming over and hugging and kissing me. I always felt like she was barely tolerating me. Was I wrong?

I was seated between two Pittsburghers and across from another. The person across from me immediately declared she was very conservative. Apropos of what, I don’t remember, but it was a conversation stopper for me. The two on either side of me spent a lot of time discussing shopping. I knew I was in the wrong place when one of them, G., started talking about a great sweater place in Oakmont that had a good range of prices, from $100 to $400. She also said she likes wearing Ralph Lauren and DKNY, but she doesn’t have to buy Ellen Tracy or Dana Buchman for work anymore because she will be retiring in April when she is 62. She will collect Social Security and hopes to also collect disability because she has Parkinson’s. She works as a secretary for the county police in an office in a bad neighborhood. And she needs designer clothes. Am I crazy?

She also told me I lived in a bad neighborhood and asked why I moved there. I felt like answering, "because you don’t live there."

I ordered monk fish for my dinner. I have never been happy with the way I cook monk fish, although I always thought it had great potential. I wanted to see what they would do with it. Well, my dinner was good, but I don’t think it was monk fish. The texture was wrong. I guess I’ll have to try making it again.

I drove to this dinner with Grace, my Tai Chi class friend. We always have a lot to talk about and have a good time together. When we left the dinner I told her about my conversations and said I was bored. She got to talk to the other end of the table and was fascinated. G’s husband said he kept a gun in his car and that G had one also. Grace asked him if he went to a range and practiced shooting. No, he didn’t want to shoot it. He just wanted it for protection. No wonder G thought I should live somewhere else.