Pale

Last night, Dylan and I got Sushi, to celebrate the arrival of my book and being together for the first time in days, alone, just the two of us. Of my three closest girlfriends, one went through a drastic breakup a few weeks ago, and the other two are currently suffering through similar. Unbeknownst to us, consciously, we were celebrating our own relationship, the relief and joy of it. It was a quiet celebration, mostly silent meal, enjoying the mix of wasabi and salmon, even the muzaked Japanese pseudo-traditional music. Each other's company was of course at the core of the evening. The fact that we can, that we do, that on top of all our hard work, sheer luck got us together and here.

Now it's a rainy Tuesday, and I am mostly - mostly - caught up with work. Other than just now having to stop typing to squirt our youngest cat off an attention-getting shelf of old Mexican blue glass, the weather, the mood, the light in the room and music is subtle. All so almost-silent, very spacious. The nothingness, the privileged openness of a good life, in which there is little conflict and a lot of patience.

One of the albums I picked up was Toad the Wet Sprocket's Pale. I have this on tape somewhere, dubbed from my friend Jennifer in JHS. Listening to it for the first time on cd is wonderful - great storytelling folk rock, so many nuances to their simple songs. And this is how I feel about my life today - sensitive and open, chilly but also alert. So grateful for the grey that pops the colors right out from cars and flowers and grass. The quieter the better, the better to actually see the world with.

That's it. That's all I have to say. Off to write poetry for Poem A Day contest, which I am now somehow also a judge for (don't know how they are going to work that one! But I'll leave it up to them.) I got both my books yesterday and a rejection letter on a story I submitted - but the letter came with comments and they want to see it again once revised. Out of the quiet, out of the space grows ideas like grass. And out of the denial grows opportunity. Out of the pale grows color, sparking fire truck color. Let the emergency pass and be grateful for the flash.