January 7, 2009, from my journal:
"I saw men rock-climbing at Livezey Rock with two dogs, a bottle of champagne, and half a chocolate cake.
A woman, older, opening her car door, to release a burst of perfume almost visible, almost palpable. Little glass lamps in the coffeeshop window throwing white spots onto the walls. Me in a tee, warm enough out for a tee - reading, Tim on his laptop, drinking a french press. We're planning tonight's dinner - we have to walk home - we walked here.
I had so many ideas in bed last night - almost got up to journal, but laid there, thinking, with deep clarity, thought following thought."
Today, a little over a year later, Tim and I also walked to the coffeeshop. It started snowing as we turned the corner down from the house. I wasn't wearing only a tee. And I don't buy caffeinated things there anymore: I get a big vanilla steamer sprinkled liberally with cinnamon. I brought The Artist's Way to work on. And we sat in the back, near the windows, just how we like.
Then we walked home, and I cleaned up my studio, which has been a mess. I got a postcard ready to send to a friend, and sent a clipping on a Backyard Chickens class off to my sister. I wrestled with the cat over who gets to sit in the chair. She won. I moved all my bubble wrap to the basement, and made a few lists. I popped in a Foyle's War DVD, and ate some chocolate chip cookies, and messed around with my sewing machine.
I really like these evenings in the studio.
And my life is still as interesting and complex and fun as it was last year around this time.
Which is good.