Friday, February 22

In a twenty-four hour period the most wondrous of events happened. Both subtle (as I was having this conversation at the time) and obvious as the phone rings. Ian is driving home and he tells me to get myself outside where the lunar eclipse is in process. "The moon's just hazy right now but we have a few minutes before it goes black." Moments later I am in standing on a chunk of ice in my front yard and the sky is crystal clear with three little stars aligned in a perfect triangle alongside a hazy moon making the whole picture look like an ice cream cone. I find it appropriate that Ian should be the one to discover and relay this natural phenomenon as we three are often coincidentally together for night sky events. In warmer weather we have three laid in the grass and just stared into the night sky until nature's events have completed.

Twenty-four hours later I am sharing a blanket and glass of wine with Melissa on her couch. History is in everything around me and of what we speak. Familiarity and what I consider incredibly beautiful: the microfiber wide couch ("I just want to be able to watch a movie and cuddle with a boy and not feel boosted off the couch") I helped her move with my truck, her paintings to which I know every backstory & medium, the postcards from her father, the picture of her and me and the paintbrush I formulated into a mustache, the dishes that she got half off from her time at La Sortable. So we promised to make a list for activities in the spring and summer involving drive in movie theaters and more portabello mushrooms.

Valerie by Amy Weinhouse
"Well Sometimes I Go Out, By Myself, And I Look Across The Water. And I Think Of All The Things, Of What You're Doing, And in my head I Paint A Picture. Since I've Come Home, Well My Body's Been A Mess, And I Miss Your Tender Hair, And The Way You Like To Dress."

posted by Jenny Friday, February 22, 2008

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