Rhonda in Rhinebeck

You never know who you'll meet.

On our way home this Sunday, we stopped for lunch in Rhinebeck, a quaint and upscale down in northern Dutchess County, not far from the Hudson River, which dates back to 1686 (or 1688, depending on which sign you believe). Leaving Ezra in the car for the hour, we chose a place with outdoor seating, and at the next table, a woman suggests the salmon, though "Everything's good."

Bryan was reserved about chatting over lunch, but the second I saw her drop some rolls into her bag in between courses, I knew she'd have a good story. Within minutes, I learn the necklace is from New Orleans, she works for a law firm, and about the turtle she's taken in -- a shell smaller than it should be and a deformed penis as well.

Rhonda is a Manhattanite who came up to Rhinebeck for the day by train. She's come up "dozens of times since 9/11... for comfort."

Obviously comfortable with us, Rhonda holds up a pad and admits that she is doing research -- for a murder mystery she's writing! She hasn't yet decided on the murder but she has decided on a protaganist -- a left-handed robot! And did we know that today is international left-handers day? No, I did not, and I'm left-handed. So, too, is the guy at the table on the other side which really excites all of us. The guy at the other table and she were already talking before we sat down -- apparently, his next door neighbor was in the Weddings listings of the Sunday paper that day -- just a town away too, at a party at which each guest brings a dish.

I asked Rhonda if she thought that meant you didn't bring a gift, and she gave me a wink to say she thought exactly the same thing.

She has other questions for her research -- did either of us have imaginary friends as children. I wish I had had; she was hungry for material.

As we crossed the parking lot to the bookstore, I asked Bryan if we should've given her a ride back. But of course, it's a silly thought: we don't eat rolls anymore.