pegkerr | Friday Night Pleasures (Reply)

I am tired of reading about death and stupidity. Death through stupidity. I came home and greeted the girls. Fiona had cleaned the bathroom. I talked for a little while on the phone with

kijjohnson. I decided not to go out for dinner--money being a bit tight. I made a supper of whole wheat pasta with my homemade pesto, gauging the amount perfectly, so I had neither too much nor too little.

I am sporting the new haircut, the one which made my coworker say, "I'd love to get a cut that short, but my husband says it would make me look too butch," and I smirked and said, "That's Ms. Butch to you." It still has a few little glittery blond highlights left from the time I tried highlighting my hair for the first time earlier this summer.

I put on an old favorite pair of jeans, soft and supple, which curve confidently around my legs, and a white chemise with a subtle glitter of sequins at the neckline, and my denim jacket, decorated with the ribbons I've chosen and sewn on myself. I wore the heart earrings, the ones with tiny serene faces carved into the hearts, which dangle down at my jaw line and murmur into my ears, Damn, woman, you look good. I drove to Anodyne Coffeeshop [an·o·dyne, adj. 1. Capable of soothing or eliminating pain. 2. Relaxing; n. 1. A medicine, such as aspirin, that relieves pain. 2. A source of soothing comfort.]

I carefully considered the various choices of Sebastian Joe ice cream available. I asked for sample spoons of the raspberry chocolate chip, and the cinnamon-chocolate coconut. Hmm. Tough choice. "I'll take both, if you can give me a half scoop of each." No trouble in the least. I sat at the table by the window overlooking Nicollet and read the free copies of Lavender Magazine, Minnesota Women's Press, and The Onion ["God Outdoes Terrorists Yet Again"] The usual Friday night folksinger was there, this one ever so not-quite-slightly flat. I was in too good a mood to care. He wasn't loud enough to be entirely annoying.

I switched to reading Sherri Tepper's Beauty which was sometimes absorbing and sometimes a little bland. I folded down the edge of a page marking a section which she seemed have swiped from Tolkien's "On Fairy Stories," the bit about man being a subcreator:

[Puck says] The Holy One created the world beautiful and manifold and complicated, and the way it was made was the way He meant it to be! He wasn't just playing, making a toy world with the real world somewhere else. No, this is it! Anybody with eyes can see the truth of that. The Holy One wanted mankind to understand creation so he could create in his turn, for man's the only one among us who can create anything at all! Angels don't! They burn with a flame, like stars, but they don't create. Faery isn't! It grows and flowers, without much thought, and it doesn't create."

See what I mean? Substitute "Faery/angels" for Tolkien's elves, and it's the same thing.

I ordered a mocha (a double!) and a brownie, which was crumbly and fudgy, and chockful of nuts. I switched to a deep, cozy leather couch and put my feet up comfortably on the battered old coffee table. And finally, as the staff finished sweeping up and putting the chairs on the tables, I left, walking outside and feeling the humid air wrap around me like an embrace. I looked up at the stars.

Then I came home. Rob was washing the dishes when I came in, which means the kitchen will be clean in the morning. The kitchen smelled warm and sweet from the bread Delia had baked.

I came upstairs to tell you about it.