A few months ago, one warm summer night, I met an old college friend for drinks. I saw him across the crowd, pacing and waiting for me, looking at his watch and frowning and then pacing some more. I didnít really want to start waving my hand in the air, yelling, ďOi! Over here!Ē So I positioned myself fetchingly, and sent a text Ė just look up - to his mobile. Itís actually one of the few times in my life Iíve made the quieter choice. Then I watched him reach into his pocket, flip open his phone, look up, see me, and smile.
It was kind of lame, I know, but also, it was kind of nice. LikeÖ just right, you know? He has a pretty smile, and the whole minute or two would have translated well to television, if the swells of a one-hit wonder from the early Ď90ís were playing in the background, and both of us were better looking, or had any kind of interest beyond drinking and gossip in each other.
I should try being quiet more often.
* * *
Iím having issues with my hair. Itís consuming quite a lot of brain power. I donít whatís bothering me more: the state of my tresses, or the idea that I really am this shallow.
* * *
Iíve taken up tap. I would have written about it before, but I couldnít bring forth the words that would make it sound less dorky than it is. But there it is; I own shoes with metal plates on them, and once a week, I put on gym-clothes, lace up the taps, let a shrill martinet of a woman bark orders at me and seven other students, and sweat my ass off.
It is the hardest, sweatiest workout Iíve ever done, and also, the most joy Iíve had in a long time. I bang my feet clumsily to music, and forget my choreography, and get frustrated as my feet refuse to learn the combinations. I lean against the barre with a towel slung Ďround my neck and pretend that Debbie Allen is telling me that now itís time to start paying, in sweat. I wipe rivulets of glow every few minutes, and am glad that everyone else, even the lithe yoga-goddess, has to do the same thing. I am shuffle-ball-changing my little heart out!
I am having the time of my life.
* * *
The fires in San Diego are scaring me, and filling me with sadness. I am afraid for my friends who live there, and I worry that the little bit of it that I saw for the first and last time two years ago will turn to acrid smoke and ash.
It was the first time I saw the Pacific, and it was the place where I got my first bit of respite from grief. I joked with friends, calling out to them, ďHug me before I become maudlinĒ and they did. I suppose that would happen in Toronto or London or Des Moines, but San Diego will always mean relief for me.
May they find some soon. It is, very likely, worse than we think it is, which is mind-boggling and scary. If you pray, send your prayers there. If you throw pennies in fountains, wish for rain.
More soon, poppets. Kisses.
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