Day in the life

Interesting things are happening.

Monday night I was so wired after the final stretch to meet deadlines that I couldn't fall asleep until after 4 a.m., a new world record for me.

Tuesday was another eleven-hour day at my office, after which I walked to the plaza in the mild early evening air to meet some friends I hadn't seen in months. By the time I was halfway there I was warm enough to have to stop and take off my sweater.

At the market we ran into a couple more people I hadn't expected to see, and from that moment on through the whole next 30 hours or so everything ran together like a warm, delicious dream. Dinner at the Himalayan restaurant, the owner of which was finally back in town to serve us personally – something we had been missing, since he's so charming and gracious and always brings us nice little surprises like a plate of hot papadam or an extra bottle of the wine we'd enjoyed so much last week. That night I fell asleep as soon as I got into bed and slept soundly all the way through until morning for the first time in more than a year (as of few years ago I usually wake up at least once during the night, needing to pee).

When I woke up Wednesday morning I knew immediately that I was awake, and then I realized that I was really awake – totally rested and relaxed and ready to get up, not groggy and exhausted like I usually am in the morning. A happy yellow note on my bedroom door informed me that Mr. A had pumped up my tires and prepared my bike to be ridden before he left for the day – I had mentioned the night before that I was feeling inspired to start riding again – so all I had to do was put on my helmet and go. I had a vigorously productive day at work, full of unaccustomed energy despite the fact that I had nothing to eat all day, and at 6:30 Mr. A picked me up in the truck, gave me a delicious pesto and mozzarella sandwich he'd made for me to eat on the way, and drove me across town to a classical Indian music concert put together by some folks at the ashram.

These two guys were amazing – they did this one raga for sunset that had me completely mesmerized. At the concert I connected again with two more friends I hadn't seen in awhile and made plans to spend more time with each of them next week. Also at the concert there were so many beautiful tastes and smells – homemade chai and kir and this pumpkiny custard thing that was divine, and smells of neroli and roses and fresh ginger, and across the room a beautiful woman in a champagne colored sweater and terra cotta pants, sitting on a deep rose colored cushion on a burgundy mat on the floor (my cushion was green, and my mat was purple). Another woman was wearing orange and chartreuse linen robes, and another anorexically beatific looking girl was sitting against the wall wrapped in a crimson wool shawl. Also, at the end of the long row of grownups' shoes outside, a tiny little Indian boy had left his tiny little pointed leather genie shoes right in the middle of the doorway, and virtually every person who entered the room noticed them and stopped to exclaim, "Look at those shoes!" They were the most spectacular shoes of the evening.

What else? A tabla player with an enormous afro was sitting on the floor just in front of me and I loved his vocal and enthusiastic appreciation of the music. I loved looking at the giant wall hanging with all the five thousand different Ganeshes embroidered around its edges. I loved the sweet almond cookies one of the women from the ashram had made. I loved driving home after the concert, drowsy and satisfied and emanating peace and well-being.

Abrupt change of topic: At work I have been given a promotion of sorts – we'll see if the title sticks after the big boss returns from his vacation, but as of yesterday I'm now the editor (as well as the designer, still) of this new twice-weekly entertainment and local news tab. I'm supposed to be getting some kind of assistant to help with the drearier production tasks, though I'm not all that hopeful that this will ever actually come to pass. Although, realistically, it's going to have to – there's no way one person can do everything I'm supposed to be doing with this thing. The fact that I have been doing it anyway doesn't mean it's possible, it just means I'm pushing myself way harder than any human should ... which I'm hoping will give me some leverage when I go in to ask for that raise.

It's satisfying to produce something really successful, even if it isn't very important or enduring. The first two issues were so well-received that we're going to be increasing the page count by about 30% – another reason I'm going to need some help. Aside from the adrenalin of an aggressive publishing schedule, I'm also enjoying the process of creating something new, from scratch – figuring out what goes in and what doesn't, designing a look and feel for it, documenting the workflow, writing procedures, etc. etc. It seems like everywhere I work, this is the role I eventually end up in – blazing a new trail, setting it up to run like clockwork, and then – hey, wait a minute! – getting laid off so the maintenance of my new system can be done by less expensive employees.

Hmm. Well, the fact that that's happened three times in the past ten years doesn't necessarily mean it's going to happen here. I'm not worried. Not that I think I'm indispensable – nobody is – but this is a different kind of company. If people do well, they tend to keep them around. As I mentioned the other day, my boss has been there over 25 years.

Anwyay. I've been noticing that the more time I spend with visual communications, the less articulate I become. When I was working as a writer, I would close my eyes at night and see lines and columns of text upon text upon text. Now, I see colors, shapes, and moving images of faces, plants, animals, buildings, fountains, trees, cars, sunsets, and all the other visuals my eyes are filled with every day. It's kind of nice, for a change, to feel the language part of my brain receding into the background. Though it does make for kind of boring, undisciplined blogposts.

Wow. I just glanced up at the tv – Mr. A just got home and put in Key Largo – and there's an impossibly thin Lauren Bacall wearing a white shirt, a long dark skirt with a wide black belt, and perfect, plain espadrilles. Totally hot.

The other day I lifted up the corner of one of Mr. A's reptile habitats (aka, an old piece of carpet draped over some broken chunks of concrete) and there were three lizards all curled up together taking a nap, and a beautiful brown toad. Other cool animals I have seen lately include a baby hummingbird drinking nectar from the blue rosemary in front of the porch, a tiny black lamb surrounded by gleaming white chickens, two calves frolicking in a field, a blonde chihuahua puppy named Charlie eating from a pile of garlic fries as big as he was that someone had just dropped on the ground in front of him at the farmer's market, and a very young and fragile looking baby horse with long spindly legs and an enormous head, drinking milk from his mother. We see him almost every day, actually – he lives with his family in a little pasture at the end of our road. Every time we pass him we look at each other and say, "Horse milk. Horse milk."

Putting it to bed

My big project is coming off the press even as I type and I'm relieved and frustrated and pleased and embarrassed. A few thoughts:

1. Overall it looks so much better than anything they've done before. On the most important piece, I feel totally satisfied with the design – that's gratifying. I struggled with it for several hours over the weekend and wasn't sure until the last moment that it was actually going to come together.

2. I'm not happy with the printing. All of the printers are so different it's impossible to get an accurate color proof, and the press is so loosie-goosie that even on the same page, the same color can (and does – did) change up to 20% depending on where it is on the page. Is this considered an acceptable variance in this kind of printing? It isn't acceptable to me. I need to figure out how to get better precision. Also, the photos came out way too dark. That's maddening, especially since it was so beautiful on screen and in the proof.

3. I need to find myself some kind of coach or mentor, or take some classes or something – it takes too long to keep figuring everything out totally on my own. Not only technical stuff but also just ... career stuff, what the hell am I really doing with my life stuff, strategy stuff, etc.

4. On another piece, someone with influence exercised it (against my recommendation) to insist upon using several super-distinctive display fonts in places where they really don't belong. I'm hoping that once this person sees it in the finished piece, they will realize that using lots of different fonts makes it look less like a clean, stylish, professionally-designed publication and more like the flyer somebody's big sister made for the middle school band bake sale. Then maybe I can have my way with that part of the thing, too.

5. I promised myself that once it was launched I was going to ask for a raise. Am I really going to do it? I've never had to ask for one before – I've pretty much always been given good raises or bonuses every year just as a matter of course, at least until I (invariably) got laid off. Here, I don't even know where the pay scale for this job description tops out. How much does everyone else make? How much does my boss make? She's been working the same job since I was a freshman in high school. Is any of this even relevant? Or should I just ask for what I want, regardless of what anyone else is getting? See, this is why I need a mentor – I have no idea how to go about this kind of thing.

6. There was a time when I'd hoped to start doing some writing here; recently I was invited to start doing some features, and I realized I just don't want to. The rate for freelancers is just too low to bother with. Maybe once in awhile, if I'm interested in the subject. Or I could do a column. That could be fun. Also, if I wanted to start selling stuff again it might be good to have my name in print on some more recent pieces. But I don't really think I want to do that right now. Anyway. Good to know it's an option, if I decide I want to.

7. It seems kind of pathetic that it's 10:30 at night and I'm still so wired over all this that I'm spending my own personal time thinking about it. I'll probably be up all night enumerating each and every detail I want to tweak before the next issue.

8. One of these days I hope to spend some time thinking (and writing) about more interesting, personal things. At this moment though I have nothing interesting or personal to think or write about, because my mind has been utterly consumed with work for coming up on a month now. Even in my dreams I can't get away from it.

9. Thanks to everyone who suggested cold and allergy remedies. I'm better.

10. On a totally unrelated note – Mr. A is putting down a deposit tomorrow on a new Prius. We had been leaning toward the Civic hybrid but the Prius is more spacious and comfortable inside for tall people like Mr. A, plus it has weird geeky features like Bluetooth something or other that lets you talk on your cellphone through the steering wheel! The main selling point, however, was its eligibility for the magic sticker that lets you drive in the carpool lane with only one person in the car. That will save him a lot of time commuting.

11. Pictures, too. I need to start posting pictures again.

Listening to: Walter Brennan / Old Rivers
This one is worth looking up; I'll give you a dollar if it don't bring a tear to yer eye. Or make you want to get a mule.

My affliction

You know that scene in Affliction where Nick Nolte pulls out his own tooth with the pliers? I spent a good three hours thinking about that scene last night, sitting up in bed with my nose running and my eyes puffing up and my swollen sinuses pounding against the roots of my teeth. I was breathing okay when I went to bed, but by 2 a.m. I was so congested I felt like I was going to drown. In my pissed off misery I kept remembering Nick Nolte, thinking that if only I could get rid of my aching teeth I might finally be able to relax and get some sleep ....

It's been like this for several nights in a row: shallow tortured breathing, throbbing eyes and sinuses, and weird nightmares. Basically I'm sleep deprived, oxygen deprived, and totally exhausted. As of this morning though I can tell I'm over the worst of it, and I'm looking forward to getting some good work done today – finally! Actually I'm kind of putting off getting started, because I'm afraid of everything I have to do today and I'm trying to live in denial for as long as possible. So far I've fixed my computer, run the disk utility, made tea, blown my nose, peeled an orange, cut up a long roll of paper towel for napkins ....

Eh. Blah. I really wish I could just go back to bed. I should just delete this whole boring post. I'm only writing because writing is my security blanket when I feel like a cranky overwrought two-year-old, and if I can't have a nap, at least I can rub my blankie a little bit before I get to work.

A brief update

1. Mr. A came home from his latest gig with a rotten cold. Now I have it too. We spent the whole weekend on the couch watching Six Feet Under DVDs.
2. My version of this cold has turned into the kind of sinus thing where the roots of your teeth ache. Bleah.
3. I took advantage of my couch time on Sunday afternoon to spend three hours or so going over my laptop keyboard with the tweezers, first removing all the keys and then removing each and every dog hair that had become lodged between all the various moving parts. I also washed all the keys. When I was finished it looked so clean and pristine it was almost as good as having a new keyboard.
4. Tater has decided he doesn't like dog food anymore. He's learned that if he holds out long enough, he will almost always get something better. I can't say no to him. Last night he wouldn't eat, so I mixed some broth from my soup into his dog food. When he still wouldn't eat, I let him sit on the couch, and held his bowl in my lap, and fed it to him with a spoon. With my spoon. That I had been eating off of. Only when he was finished eating did I rinse off the spoon and go back to my own dinner. This kind of indulgence has got to stop. Except, does it really? Why shouldn't I spoonfeed a dog his dinner, if we both like to do it that way?
5. Because it's ridiculous, that's why!
6. Work is impossibly busy all this week. We're launching the big secret new publication a week from today. As soon as it's out, I am definitely going to take a day off.
7. This is the kind of news you get when I'm sick and tired.
8. Good night.

A day-before-Easter miracle!

This afternoon my cell phone rang and as I picked it up I recognized the number of the shop where I bought those earrings. When I'd called earlier today the owner had said they didn't have any more like that, but that I could leave my number in case they got them in again. So when I saw who was calling me I thought, Cool – she must have found another pair. And at that exact moment – before I even answered the call – I reached into my coat pocket and there – THERE – was the missing earring!

So freaky! Especially since I know I already checked the pockets, more than once. Which just goes to show how obsessive I was about looking, because I never even wore that coat on that day – just carried it around with me all afternoon in case it should start to rain again.

Anyway, when I realized what I was touching I felt so happy I couldn't stop laughing. I have the earring back! And, if I still want yet another pair, I can have that too!

Last night as I was heading toward the toll plaza on the Bay Bridge, with Oakland all spread out in front of me sparkling with the sunset and city lights coming on, I was mesmerized by an enormous purple blanket of fog that stretched all the way from Marin, over San Francisco and the bay, and down as far as I could see toward Fremont and the South Bay. Usually the city seems so overwhelmingly huge to me, and so do the bridges and those gigantic white cranes down at the loading docks and the neverending stretches of pavement and overpasses and all the other things that people have made ... but under that rolling fog, with the deepening blue sky and all the billions of stars above it, I got a sense of the real scale of things, how small we humans and our creations really are. I couldn't help thinking about my lost earring then. Somehow, in that context, I suddenly felt at peace about having lost it. And yet today, when I found it again, I was instantly ecstatic.

I'm not the kind of person who would take any of this as a sign that everything happens for a reason, or that there must be some greater lesson to be learned here, or that – see?! – the world really is a paradise of abundance in which even the most seemingly innocuous events are secretly conspiring to shower us with blessings beyond our wildest dreams!!!!

I do believe in gratitude, though, and I can't help feeling ridiculously, giddily grateful each time a little bit of happiness comes my way. Finding a small lost thing might not "mean" anything, but it sure feels good.

Shenpa

I knew there was a word for it. This is what I'm talking about. More info here.

My clinging mind

Just as I love my uniforms, I also love my routines. On a typical weekday I leave the house between 7:30 and 9:30 a.m. (depending on the day), work straight through the day at my office, and go directly home afterwards. There is the exception of the Tuesday night subroutine, in which I detour on the way home to have dinner with friends at the Himalayan restaurant, and the occasional lunch date with Mr. A or some other lucky companion. But because I'm a creature of habit, and because the dogs start melting down if they don't get their dinner at about the same time every night, I rarely deviate from the schedule.

Today was one of the days when I deviated. Not only did I leave for lunch, but I made three separate stops – at the art store, the Chinese lunch place, and the comfortable shoe shop. Back at work, I spent some time under my desk trying to plug in some new equipment, and did an inordinate amount of extraneous walking around the office this afternoon trying to track down various people who are working on this big project with me. And after work I made three more stops, at the pharmacy, the veggie market, and the gas station.

Finally I arrived back at home, fed the dogs, and flopped down onto my bed for a quick break before dinner. That was when I noticed I'd lost an earring. And realized instantly that with every place I've been today, there's almost no chance in hell I'm ever going to find it again.

These are my current favorite earrings, the ones I was breaking in to be the mainstay of my summer earwear. I've worn them almost every single day for more than three weeks – ever since I got them. Now what am I going to do? It's as if I've lost a limb. My ear feels like someone's aiming a gigantic spotlight at it, the kind they use to promote movie premiers and supermarket grand openings. Every couple of minutes I catch myself reaching for my earlobe ... yeah, it's still gone.

It makes me think of all the people who lost so much in the South last fall, and people who are living with real and important losses all over the world right now. I realize that an earring is not much to lose.

Over my lunch of spicy eggplant I read a story about getting a tattoo: "something that can't be stolen, pawned, lost, forgotten or outgrown." As I read that sentence I thought, "Well, somebody could steal it – they could cut off your arm!"

That was before I lost the earring. I think.

Tonight I was walking out to search the car and it occurred to me again that even if I find the earring, someday I'll lose everything. Everything! I'm already getting wrinkles and the occasional white hair, and the other day I noticed a spot of what I think might be the dreaded onychomycosis creeping along my big toenail. Even our own bodies are not irrevocably ours. I thought, "Second noble truth, baby! Just sit with it." And I'm trying to. Still, I will be calling all those shops when they reopen tomorrow morning, just to see if anything's turned up.

In the interest of full disclosure I should probably mention that these are not 50 karat diamond chandeliers, but cheap, rustic pounded silver hoops from Thailand. And I actually bought two identical pairs of them, because I realized the clasp was likely to fail but I loved them too much to not get them. So it's not like the pair's ruined, it's just that now instead of having two spares I only have one. I will also confess that I plan to call up the store tomorrow and ask if they have yet another pair I can buy. Because I love these earrings and I want to have them forever, or at least for as long as I have ears.

It's interesting to notice how much anguish I'm feeling over this. There's an unpleasant sensation of anxiety or desire burning just above my solar plexus. You'd think that feeling would make me want to let it all go, but it doesn't – in fact it makes me want to hold on all the harder. Funny how that works.

Listening to: Prince – Joy in Repetition

Remember!

To look at me you'd never guess I was so obsessed with female beauty of the type celebrated in the pages of W, Vogue, Vanity Fair, Elle, InStyle, et al. I don't aspire to it, but I appreciate it. Looking at beautiful people is one of my favorite pastimes. (Also, looking at average and ugly people – basically, I'll watch anyone. Sometimes I think the pleasure I take in this is at least partly responsible for my wish to be invisible – because then I could stare at anyone I want to stare at, without freaking them out. But I guess that's what mirrored sunglasses are for.)

The down side to looking at all these images is that when I then look at myself in the mirror – or even worse, at pictures taken by other people – I'm usually dismayed at my utter ordinariness. This is interesting because most of the time, I actually do find myself pretty damn fabulous. I don't expect anyone else to see me that way, especially lately, what with the extra poundage and haircare gone awry and new little wrinkles appearing with alarming regularity ... But what can I say, I like myself quite a lot most of the time and it doesn't bother me (much) if others think of me as boring. Because ... you know ... I know I'm not.

There is much more to say on the topic of self-image and the desire to be admired vs. the desire to be invisible – but all I really wanted to say today is that I was just flipping through the March InStyle and misread something that made me smile.

On the little bookmark thingie they have glued into the binding, one of the headlines (under BEAUTY) is "Forgetting You're Gorgeous."

At least that was what I thought it said. I spent a very pleasant half-second or so ruminating on this ... "Yeah! I am gorgeous! Thanks for the reminder, InStyle!" ... before I read it again and realized it actually said, "Your Plan for Getting Gorgeous." It was the way the words broke at the end of each line that led to my mistake. In reality, InStyle thinks that I am not yet gorgeous. What they're selling is their plan for helping me GET gorgeous.

Anyway. I just wanted to write that down. As usual, I prefer my own interpretation. I'm going to stick with that and so should you.

Forgetting you're gorgeous?
Don't forget! You're gorgeous!

Tinarama, goat doula

A couple of weeks ago I went to my friend's place to give the goats their shots again and happened to arrive just as this nice lady goat was giving birth to twins. She was very matter-of-fact and undramatic about it, even though it was her first time – in fact, her attitude was so casual that at first she seemed more interested in getting back to the food tray than in taking care of her babies. I distracted her with a handful of grain while one of them got himself into nursing position, and later guided the other one's mouth in place until he figured out how to suck. I also recorded them on my cell phone, bleating loudly and desperately for their mother to come back each time she left them to scrounge for more food. Apparently mama goats can get very hungry after giving birth.

Also, thirsty. I learned that unlike dogs, who drink by lapping up water with their tongues, goats (at least the ones I know) drink by slurping it up with their lips and then raising their heads to swallow. She made the most charming little delicate sipping noises as she drank.

I had forgotten how bloody and primal and, in a way, kind of disgusting birth is. All those fluids and smells.

[An aside: When I was in my 20s I seriously considered becoming a midwife. I got several months into training with a couple of homebirth midwives before it finally became clear to me that I wasn't actually all that interested in the physical, "medical" experience of pregnancy and birth – it was the psychological, social, metaphysical and philosophical angles that I wanted to explore. In other words, as with so many other things in life, I preferred to observe it and think about it – document it – rather than do it myself.

That isn't true for everything, of course. I've gone to great lengths to secure certain experiences for myself. The experience of raising humans, though, just never became a driving need for me the way so many other things did. If it had, I would have found a way to do it.]

This is Teddy, the little brown and white goat I fell in love with last month, when he was only a day old. I've been invited to take him home to live with me, if I wish, along with his sister Olga and possibly one or two more. My friend wants him to go to someone who will keep him around for awhile, not butcher him and eat him after a year. And here's something cool, on the theme of experience vs. observation: I love it that when I look at this picture, I can remember in my hands exactly how his fur feels, and the little nubs of his horns that are still too small to see, and the soft pads of his feet where his hooves haven't grown out and hardened yet. I know what he smells like. I've touched my nose to his nose and felt the inside of his mouth sucking on my finger. I know the shape of his hipbones and the way the fur ends in a clean straight line along the bottom edges of his tail. I know that he knows me, too.

I haven't decided yet if I want to get into keeping livestock. They're sure cute, though, when they're little.

One more

Now this here is what you call a beautiful shoe. If I can't have longer legs, I do wish at least I could have bigger feet ... big enough to wear men's shoes. Because just as little girls get all the best dresses, men always seem to get the best shoes.

Perhaps in my next life I'll be a cobbler and make all my own shoes. The most fabulous shoes in all the world. Blue shoes.

Blue ... shoes ....

My ugly obsession

As I was saying: these are the shoes. I'm obsessed with big ugly platform shoes, and when I saw these in the magazine ... well, maybe they're not as ugly as they could be, but all the same – I almost cried with happiness. Unfortunately, even if I could afford to buy them, I cannot find them. They exist, for me, only in the pages of the April issue of Vanity Fair, a magazine I bought for the first time in years last month ostensibly to study trends in fashion advertising, but really because I was dying to know Teri Hatcher's desperate secret.

(As an aside: I don't remember if I've already written about this, but I have a friend at work who shares all her trashy magazines with me. They start out with her mother-in-law's hairdresser and make the rounds through several people before it's my turn, and after I read them I take them back to work and pass them along to someone else. As a result I've developed quite a taste for this kind of journalism ... not that I would consider Vanity Fair trash, but you know ... it ain't high art.)

Anyway. The other obstacle to my wearing these fabulous shoes is the fact that my legs just aren't the type. Although I have never let that stop me before. For example, witness Exhibit a, an actual scan of the hideously unfashionable 5-inch leopard-print platform maryjanes I wore shopping for earrings a couple of weekends ago. These shoes have been in and out of the Goodwill box more times than I can count. I loved them the second I saw them (they were on sale!), and I still love them, but realistically – where can you really wear a pair of shoes like that?

As it turns out, you can wear them anywhere. Or at least, you can wear them around town in Sebastopol in the middle of the day on a wet and gloomy early spring shopping excursion. And if you should decide to do that, you may be surprised to receive, as I did last Saturday, no fewer than EIGHT separate and (I have no reason to doubt) completely sincere compliments on them from various other shoppers and storekeepers, three of whom – in three different stores – actually begged to know where I had gotten them. So I guess I'll be hanging on to them for at least a little while longer.

All this shoe and earring excitement in happening because even though it's still cold and rainy, spring is now officially here – the clocks have changed and everything – and it's starting to hit me that I need to get moving on my new summer uniform.

Last year it was all pretty much variations on yellow and orange linen things, with the obligatory ratty old cargo pants in faded olive green (possibly the last summer for this particular pair). This year, I don't know. I've been really attracted to brown and black lately, but that's probably only because of the weather. Also, I'm really wanting to get away from black lately for some reason.

What I'm thinking, especially now that I've finally become sun-conscious to the point of wearing sunscreen every single day, is something vaguely caftan-like ... taking my clues from Africans, Bedouins, Jesus, and other hot-climate-dwelling folks. It will definitely have long sleeves, but not too loose! And possibly at least partly transparent. I have this old flannel night shirt that might make a good pattern if I can bring myself to take it apart. As for the bottom, maybe a skirt? (Note to self: think about how all this is going to work on the bike!)

Augh. I don't know. I just know that I can't stand to be hot, or to have to think about what I'm going to wear every day. Awhile ago Julie wrote about this artist who creates and wears uniforms as art – which made me feel totally validated, because I've been wearing my own weird pseudo-uniforms for years and always felt vaguely embarrassed about how much I loved wearing the same thing day after day after day. Aren't we creative types supposed to like to mix things up a bit?

Which, I suppose, is where the shoes come in. As another example, how about these? Aren't they preposterous?! I have no idea what I'd wear with them ... maybe some kind of ... pants? Coveralls? Could they be tied in somehow with my wasabi-colored cowboy hat?

And then there are these, which I'm not sure are ugly enough for me to love ... but there's something a little krazy about the shape, and I like the way the crocodile skin wraps around the back and then starts crawling back up the front under the toe. But they're suede, and they'd be too hot, and they cost four hundred dollars. Maybe in the fall. You know, right after I win the lottery.

Finally, I am also considering this humble pair of jute canvas loafers. I love Simple shoes because they're one of the only brands that is consistently wide enough for me, plus these ones are 100% vegan and can be thrown in the compost pile after you've worn them out! The only trouble is, I'm afraid they might be just a little too flat. Fortunately there is a shoe guy in town who's performed a couple of miracles for me over the last few years ... I wonder how tall he could make them?

L'Avventura

Yesterday morning after hot buttered 10-grain apple pancakes and tea, while Mr. A was changing the oil in the truck, I pumped up my bike's flat front tire and rode in the soft misting rain, still in my socks and pajamas, all the way down to where our road dead-ends in a private wildflower preserve and then turned around and coasted all the way back home. I'm recording it because first of all it was such a delightful experience – all that lovely fresh air and lush greenery – and also because I want to remember how it felt to climb onto the bike again after not having ridden it for just over three weeks, and to feel once again, just as I did the first time I ever rode it, the shock of a truly perfect fit.

I knew I loved that bike, but my body had forgotten how right for me it really is. What a difference! As a shorter-than-average person I've spent my whole life rolling up my pants and sleeves, sitting on pillows in driver's seats that have been scooted as far forward as they will go, swinging my legs from office chairs that are too tall for my feet to touch the floor, looking for things to stand on in order to reach the top shelf, and just generally making do with things that do not fit, and/or trying to accommodate myself to a world that is mostly designed for people larger and longer-limbed than I am. Riding a bike that feels like it was built just for me, with exactly the right heights and distances and angles and proportions ... it's a very satisfying feeling.

So today I am giving thanks for my beloved bike, and for all things that feel right, right from the get-go!

In other news, I've been on the scale at least a half a dozen times since Friday and it appears the springs are not broken, the dial is not distorted, and nothing is wrong with my eyes. I really did lose some weight! Why do I find this so amazing? I'm not sure. I guess I just didn't believe anything would happen.

After thinking about it a bit though I've realized it's not true that I didn't do anything but stop eating sugar and refined flour. There are two other things that have changed. One is, since Mr. A has been traveling again I've been feeding myself instead of eating what he cooks, which means dinner is usually a few sticks of celery with peanut butter or half a yam, instead of guy-sized portions of steak with caramelized onions and gorgonzola crumbled over the top, buttery sauteed vegetables, caesar salad and a bowl of some baked apple or berry crumbly thing with a little cream poured over the top (what can I say, the man loves to cook). Also, instead of chewing only until things are in small enough pieces to swallow, often while sitting at my desk or standing in the kitchen, I've started eating at the table and thoroughly chewing everything until it turns into a liquid and slips down my throat. So maybe I'm actually eating less, too.

Sigh. Right now he's gone again, just for a few days this time; I got up at 4 this morning to drive him to the airport. On the way there I was thinking about an ex-husband dream I'd been having when the alarm woke me up, which led to a weird sort of epiphany having to do with the effect of my low self-esteem on the relationships I had in my 20s, and everything I lost because I was so hesitant to stand up for myself. I felt strangely bereft all morning.

Over the weekend we watched L'Avventura, an Italian art flick that has been on my list forever. The first time through I have to admit my main reaction was something along the lines of "Yawn." Also, "Huh?" It was visually beautiful, but I didn't feel like I really understood why it's considered such a classic. Then we watched it with the commentary on, and suddenly every scene was like a light bulb turning on. Like, of course that's what it was all about! I understand everything now!

Sometimes I have wished for a button like that for life, that I could flick on for a few lines of explanation when things start feeling dangerously dull or incongruous. But that would spoil the experience, wouldn't it? Isn't it better to make your own observations first, rather than trying to live by someone else's interpretation of what everything "means?"

Yes, it is. All the same, as I was explaining to Mr. A, I still think it's useful to learn to look at film (or literature, or any other kind of art) from multiple perspectives – as the artist who's creating it, as the various actors, as the story itself, as a viewer or witness, etc. – because it helps cultivate the ability to see any story that way – every story, including (especially!) my own. To me this is a wonderful feeling, powerful and free. It's very liberating to realize that nothing is ever all one way, and much more interesting.