the uncle you never knew about
Mar. 12th, 2005 05:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
constanceToday is a perfect day. I am barefoot in flannel on the screened porch, sitting on an Adirondack chair which is a little grubby but not too grubby. I am striped, from the flannel and from my t-shirt and from the sun, three different stripes, and there is a glass of sweet tea concentrate on the table beside me, and every time I pick up the glass the ice clinks and a puddle of water tries to hold it to the table. There is a book which I just bought today, and it is heartbeaking and beautiful--with no offense to Mr. Eggers intended--and I keep picking it up and putting it down, drinking it in, as my old friend Claude Collier would say.
It is quiet in this neighborhood, or it's quiet from where I'm sitting--in the back yard--and there is a single windchime that I can just barely make out and there are a few birds and there is a dog who's trying to get my attention, and underneath that there is a constant white-noisy heavy-equipment hum. And the woods behind me are showing flashes of green, and there is a smell of sweet olive and pine in the air, and the breeze was opening and closing the porch doors, trying different configurations of open and close until it settled on the perfect one (left open, right 3/4 closed).
There's been a nap, too, and a bath, and a trip to town with the car windows open. Also phone calls from friends. Also a giggling, eager Harry Potter conversation at my bookstore (where I bought the aforementioned book) involving two and a half adult coworkers and speculation. And there's been work to do, and I've done it in this manner: work for 10 minutes, relax for 30. And plans for tonight, talked about but not solidified in any way, so that there is a promise of a plan, which is my favorite part of the planning stage. Like, in my new book, a little boy says of his father's stories: the moment before he started was my favorite part.
A few months ago at Christmastime, everyone was posting their Christmas wish lists, and so I posted mine, too, in a private-ish place since I wasn't quite ready for livejournal yet. Mostly in my list I just asked for a life that was different than the one I was living at that moment, and some of the things I got and some of the things I didn't--but there's still time to get that roller-coaster ride, I think, or the snowfall--and my life is a little better for it, now. One of the things I asked for on my list was a perfect day. This, I believe, is that day, and I feel I should be thanking someone for it, but I don't know who to thank, so think of this as my open letter to the universe.
Today is a perfect day. Thank you for it.
It is quiet in this neighborhood, or it's quiet from where I'm sitting--in the back yard--and there is a single windchime that I can just barely make out and there are a few birds and there is a dog who's trying to get my attention, and underneath that there is a constant white-noisy heavy-equipment hum. And the woods behind me are showing flashes of green, and there is a smell of sweet olive and pine in the air, and the breeze was opening and closing the porch doors, trying different configurations of open and close until it settled on the perfect one (left open, right 3/4 closed).
There's been a nap, too, and a bath, and a trip to town with the car windows open. Also phone calls from friends. Also a giggling, eager Harry Potter conversation at my bookstore (where I bought the aforementioned book) involving two and a half adult coworkers and speculation. And there's been work to do, and I've done it in this manner: work for 10 minutes, relax for 30. And plans for tonight, talked about but not solidified in any way, so that there is a promise of a plan, which is my favorite part of the planning stage. Like, in my new book, a little boy says of his father's stories: the moment before he started was my favorite part.
A few months ago at Christmastime, everyone was posting their Christmas wish lists, and so I posted mine, too, in a private-ish place since I wasn't quite ready for livejournal yet. Mostly in my list I just asked for a life that was different than the one I was living at that moment, and some of the things I got and some of the things I didn't--but there's still time to get that roller-coaster ride, I think, or the snowfall--and my life is a little better for it, now. One of the things I asked for on my list was a perfect day. This, I believe, is that day, and I feel I should be thanking someone for it, but I don't know who to thank, so think of this as my open letter to the universe.
Today is a perfect day. Thank you for it.
no subject
Date: 2005-03-13 01:20 am (UTC)(a) A newly-minted nephew
(b) A gift certificate to a dorky model train store to give my favorite uncle, who's turning 70 tomorrow, and
(c) Through a Glass Darkly, which looks fantastic, and a wonderful note which featured writing so tiny and perfect that the spouse and I spent a goodly chunk of time marveling over it.
Thank you so much! I love the weird polar bear picture, and I think the girls should write a story to go with it. I can't wait to figure out what I'm sending you in return!
no subject
Date: 2005-03-13 05:31 am (UTC)And I'm glad you got the book! I'm always nervous when I recommend books to people I like, so I'm keeping my fingers crossed that you have as much of a blast with it as I did. And still do, really.
:D:D:D:D