A nice day

It turns out that I do not have a single interesting thing to say today about changing paradigms or the state of publishing or the power of story, or anything else. I am just living life right now, doing things that are of great value to me but perhaps not so fascinating to the rest of the world. Yesterday I made banana bread because Nicola loves it. And then I went dancing — not a work evening, just a night to dance on the floor. There was a baseball game, and parking downtown was hopeless. Then a homeless man helped me find a parking place, and I gave him some money, and we talked to each other like people about the heat and driving, and we wished each other a good evening. And we both knew that our definitions of “good” were pretty different in our personal contexts. It was hot in the club, and they brought two enormous box fans (almost as tall as me) that blew a cool wind through us, and the women danced, danced, danced. And the men who worked at the club, who brought out the fans, tried hard not to look at the dancing women, and I wondered briefly what it is like for (presumably straight) men to be in a place where looking at women is wrong. DJ Stacey played “Relax” for me (thanks, Stacey), and as it came up I bowed to her and she smiled. I talked to a 50-year-old woman who just came out a year ago and is being brave about everything, including coming to these dances and talking to strangers and maybe even thinking about putting her essay collection out there into the world for publishers to consider… you go, Rebecca. And when it was time to leave, I went out into the street and said no, thank you, I think I’ll be fine to the nice bouncer guy who offered to escort me to my car, and I walked in the custard light of a city sunset past bars and pizza palaces and people sleeping in corners, through the smell of urine and phad thai, through the sounds of the baseball game on someone’s radio, past the watchful gaze of other bouncers in their red-roped doorways and the impassive visual sweep of a cop on patrol. And I got in my car and came home to Nicola with a great big cheeseburger and fries and a chocolate shake that I drank on the way home. And then we had a beer and I told her everything I’ve just told you, and she told me about her evening full of Anglo-Saxon rings and Indian food and the frustration of regionalized DVDs (c’mon, world, can we all just get together on the DVD format if nothing else?) and all the things she was thinking in the quiet peace of our house while I was moving inside the bass beat of music.

It was a nice day.

9 thoughts on “A nice day”

  1. I enjoy all of your posts, but I think I like this type the best; the way you describe your everyday life makes it special. The way you notice things and are able to relate that to us in words is a gift for us; reminds me once again to treasure the passing moments. (whispering in my head my own version of — dandelion wine, dandelion wine, dandelion wine……)

  2. I’ve been reading your blog for sometime now. I think that’s called lurking, but I’m not sure. Anyhow, here’s my two cents…you have enough material in these blog posts for a number of really fine short stories. And I can’t wait to read them.

  3. @ Cato — Welcome, and thanks, and yes, me too (grin). I think that unless I get hit by a bus or something, there are plenty of stories of one kind or another. Although I have to say, I generally get enormous pleasure from just sharing little stories on the blog. So thanks for reading.

    @ Jennifer — I think everyday life ought to be as special as we can make it, in the everyday ways. I almost never take my evening beer or a really good television program for granted. I can get happy just hearing a good song at the grocery store (they play 70’s & 80’s music on the PA, and so I can pick out my vegetables to Pink Floyd and Steeler’s Wheel…)

    @ Barbara — Thank you, and many nice days to you as well.

  4. Sounds like you had a good time. I enjoyed reading this. Now I have a craving for one-dollar pizza slices and blackberry iced-yogurt shake. Maybe I’ll wait until 3 am so my wife can tag along (she doesn’t like the “outside” if it means she’ll see more than 30 people).

  5. —and I wondered briefly what it is like for (presumably straight) men to be in a place where looking at women is wrong.—

    When I was 18, my father took me for the first time to a Playboy Club. It was a bit of sensory overload for me and I found myself “sneaking” looks at the bunnies, for which my father eventually (laughing) chided me, saying, “Y’know, here it’s okay to stare.”

  6. Your nice day was the same day as my 55th birthday. I woke up in a tent with my sweetheart in woods I adore. It’d been raining for two days–enough to create flooding and helicopter rescues not too far away at the Grand Canyon–but between waves of storms we walked and saw elk grazing and flowers that seemed to clump into bright bouquets just for us and even managed to grill our fish and bake potatoes in the fire before retreating to the tent yet again. And on the 17th there was blue skies in the morning. We pulled the chairs to the edge of a meadow and sipped perked coffee and just smiled and smiled. And now thoughts of butterflies there meet dancers from your day.

  7. Happy birthday, Jean! Your day sounds wonderful in all ways, and I’m delighted for you.

    A nice day is a Very Good Thing indeed. And there are so many ways to have them!

  8. @ Mark — I have been chuckling over this since you posted it. Sort of like being in the candy store with your hands tied, or something…

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