Lunch in Paris

I have many favorite days, or good days. I would say my most recent favorite day was a week or two ago on a beautiful spring day. I was walking my dog in the neighborhood and thinking of my good fortunes and it doesn't get any better than this.

I had a cruddy day yesterday. Not awful, but one of those stressful days that makes me feel like a failure as a parent. My kids are fine, but I could have handled some minor things differently yesterday.

You know, I think it's the relaxed fun like you describe that's somehow much more important to us in the long run than those big events/trips to Disney days.

It seems to nurture the soul in so many ways and it's good to take note of them and relish them for what they bring us.

OK, maybe not so clear, but I'm just saying kudos to you for taking note of something that may not seem significant, when in fact, it is really a boost to the spirit.
Well, I cannot seem to make this clear, so I'll stop now and go get some coffee.

Not at all mightshould--you made that quite clear--crystal in fact, and yes--please do go and get some coffee if you want--come to think of it, I'll join you.

Definitely my birthday, about a month ago, which I got to spend with elzard and BitterOldPunk. We spent the day visiting a couple of historic sites and trawling through a cool music store; they took me out for dinner at this incredible restaurant; and then we all hung out watching DVDs and talking and enjoying each others' company well into the wee hours. It really was a great and memorable day.

I have said it before, but for me a day without pants is a good day. At home, with enough food and smokes, and no good reason to do anything other than relax, play games, surf, have a nap... mmm, the day after tomorrow is going to be a good day!

I remember it very clearly because I forced myself to remember it (otherwise it gets lost in the boring doom that is my brain). I was sitting in the backseat of my homie's car. She was driving and her boyfriend was riding shotgun. We were on the highway and heading towards the mall. It had rained earlier in the day, but it had cleared up by the afternoon and the sun was shining and we had all the windows down. We were smoking and had just been at this adorable coffee/tea shop downtown and I had an amazing iced coffee drink that tasted like Snickers. There was a concert going on at this shop and it was outdoors but it started to pour and I came inside and played checkers with her boyfriend on this huge table runner and the pieces were three inches in diameter.
It was an absolutely perfect day and whenever I feel down, I try to think of it and just how wonderful I felt sitting in the backseat, watching all the other cars go zooming by.

My Saturday with Melismata wandering around Salem and schmoozing with the wiccans, returning to Cambridge for supper at an Italian/Yankee fusion restaurant, and then into Boston for an evening of Mozart by the Boston Symphony Orchestra. It was, in fact, one of the best days of my life.

September. It's one of those breezy, bright early autumn days when summer seems to be wishing its gentle way back, just for a goodbye kiss.

Some friends came into town for an afternoon at the museum. We meet there, walk through the galleries for an hour, have lunch, walk through more galleries. We talk and laugh.

We drive out of town with no real plan. We decide to stop for a glass of wine at an inn on the water. The hostess leads us to sprawling wicker chairs on the deck, where the view is best. We sit in comfort, sipping and sighing contentedly in the sun. A friend remarks, "It's a Gatsby afternoon."

A moment later, a vintage roadster appears on the road before the inn. We burst into laughter, wave madly. The driver (Gatsby, but of course!) waves back cheerily and zips out of view. Today, I believe in happy endings, even for Gatsby.

Yesterday my father and I drove down to Washington, DC, in a bright red Toyota Corolla loaned to him by the dealership mechanic (his 1995 Avalon is having front-end work done). We parked on 7th St. by the sculpture garden, and spent the morning and early afternoon at the National Gallery of Art.

First we took in a show of Robert Frank photos centering on his book The Americans; it offers a glimpse of his process (proof sheets are great storytellers) and includes one of my favorite Frank photos:

≡ Click to see image ≡

Then we walked through to the other side of the West Wing to an interesting exhibit of Dutch cityscape paintings (I say interesting; the show was perhaps less interesting than it might have been, since the Vermeer "View of Delft" never made it over from the Maritshuis).

After lunch at the NGA cafeteria, we went to the East Wing auditorium and enjoyed a concert and lecture by David Amram, which included his Triple Concerto, performed on french horn, bassoon, and alto sax; the recital finished with "Pull My Daisy" [YouTube], Amram's jazz composition from the opening of the Robert Frank film collaboration [Wikipedia] with Jack Kerouac and a stack of others. The concert far exceeded my expectations.

We finished our tour at a show of illuminated manuscripts in the street level gallery of the East Wing; from this gallery one can look from above into the Alexander Calder room. The juxtaposition of small, detailed, colorful, and holy works on the walls with the big bright mobile sculptures through the "windows" was intriguing, a real class choice by the curators. On our way out we stopped to look at the snow and ice formations growing on Andy Goldsworthy's "Roof," which takes on different aspects depending on the season.

Then it was off to the car and down to my brother's place in Alexandria, VA, in time for the one-year old nephew to wake up from a nap and the six-year old nephew to come home from school. It relaxes me to see my dad surrounded by the kids and the dog, smiling and playing with one or reading to the other; I guess I worry along with him that he might not survive the heartbreak of my mom's death, and every day like yesterday seems to prove a little more how much there is to live for and how important his survival is to all of us.

Then we came back up to Maryland and watched Manchester City versus Aston Villa from the weekend's Premier League DVR cache. A cracking game with a couple nice goals, though I hate to see anyone score on Brad Friedel.

Last weekend we went to a Baltimore Symphony Orchestra Saturday morning concert which included works by Benjamin Britten and Antonin Dvorák (the Cello Concerto was played very well by German cellist Daniel Müller-Schott) and had lunch with an old friend of my Dad's. I think we were still both too dazed to feel altogether good; last weekend's outing was light seeping through curtains compared to yesterday's bright sun. Though it's still cold, the snow's melting and sliding off the roof in a series of mighty crashes.

I look forward to every Wednesday. I'm a divorced dad, any my 13-year-old daughter lives with her mom most of the time, with us every other weekend. But every Wednesday night, come hell or high water, for well over 10 years now, we've had dinner together, usually just me and her, nothing special, McDonalds or Noodles & Company, then head to the library for homework. It's a pain-in-the-ass drive out to the suburbs, an hour and a half, usually, each way, I have to come in early to work so I can leave at 4:30 to go pick her up, but then me and my girl can hang out for a few hours in the middle of the week. And it's perfect, every time.

Today. I woke up in an inexplicably happy mood. I've stopped trying to figure out why and am just going with it.

Previous favourite day was the day of Ratstravaganza. It was a great show and the ride to and from with the mister was fun. It was full of chatting and laughter and a good lunch on the way home.

This day on Mt. Rainier: ≡ Click to see image ≡

In the hushed valleys of snow at the edge of the tree-line we trapped photons in our cameras to be released at our pleasure later. The snow, sun and clouds displayed the mountain in her full majesty.

My heart aches in advance of the day when she awakens, as did her sister St. Helens, and her harsh elegance is blown across the countryside. On this day, however, she lay still: a geological Sleeping Beauty awaiting a fiery kiss.

In the Northwest every compass points to Rainier. She draws you to her with her unconquerable indifference. You must be near her, to touch her as she touches you. There is a redemption even in her shadow; a touch of her hem heals the soul and there is nothing you can give in return.

When our limits are reached, we retreat from the hibernating alpine fields with growing melancholy. Physically drained, emotionally full, we return to the city.

You guys have great days. Mountains, Museums, Date's with a daughter, Friends, Shows, Suppers, Ride with friends, Nakedness (I'd like to have more of that, preferably with her, when I find her), Birthdays (Happy Belated), Nurturing the soul, Spring days, and Lunch in Paris (you dog)... :)