Common Grounds Aching Side

My long held theory continues to gain further support.  For years I have suspected that the NWAWP possesses some kind of unspoken power to draw attractive women, and yesterday afternoon's debriefing session at Common Grounds only furthered that hypothesis.  It wasn't simply an effect of the lighting and oppressively humid atmosphere (when I finally got home, I lamented leaving my giant container of Gold Bond at Peabody-thank heaven for the earlier lesson about "always have a back-up!").  The evidence was abundant.  NWAWP women, you weave powerful magic!

Encircling the several tables cobbled together on that patio were the most engaging, entertaining, and distracting beauties I have ever had to pleasure to meet.  I had carried to my car no fewer than a dozen hours of pressing reading/writing work aching to be completed in time for some alone time on my motorcycle, and I'll be damned if I could tear myself away from the tales of adventure, travel accounts, copious refreshments, snacks, and ribaldry even one minute before the group dispersed en masse.   How is it that from the far corners of the earth the threads of your lives have interwoven with my own?  How is it that you continue to spin yarns that suspend time and override my own imagination?  How is it that you seem always to slip an undetected hand below the table to stroke my thigh teasingly higher and higher until I am rendered incapable of enough concentration to string two syllables together, and you can do this without once drawing the attention of anyone else in the room?  Wait!  That was Mike. (never mind) 

Seriously, every gathering of NWAWP fellows has been and continues to be an love-in for me.  I learn from you things that force me to sharpen my own skills and draw from my students better performance than they knew could be possible.  I love that, but I must confess that you also charm me with your wit, your open laughter, the freedom of your unguarded smiles, the ready excitement with which you lean forward to add details to a story not intended for all of Dickson Street to enjoy, the way you lean back in your chair signifying that your satisfaction and gratitude of surviving a tough and action packed week of the Summer Invitational, and the salty familiarity with which you smoothly signal the wait staff that you are likely to down the last three ounces of your rapidly warming refreshment, and if she hopes to receive anything but a chastising tip, she better hustle her thoroughly-over-pierced ass back to the spigot to draw you another.  Truly, beauty and grace have never looked or sounded better, and the memories of you haunt my thoughts and dreams for days and weeks after every encounter.

It was a sweet afternoon and early evening I wouldn't have missed for the world, and I pity those who couldn't join us.  Fellows and spouses, you captivated me, and I can hardly wait for the opportunity to gather again.  Parting was such sweet sorrow, but the hope of 8:30 AM Monday morning is like the coming of a new dawn.  Well, actually, it is exactly that, the coming of a new dawn.  See ya there.

Peace,

SS