A Good Couple of Days

Hurro.

A good weekend. A very good weekend. Jessie was home. I looked at stars. It was 4 degrees in Pittsburgh, single-digits. Farenheit. We are talking negative Celsius, people. I stood outside my apartment tonight, watching my breath escape in a little white cloud up towards its parents in the sky, and I could hear the windless snowflakes shivering. It is cold in Pittsburgh.

I love the cold. I love how clear the air gets, how all the heavy non-air stuff shivers to the ground and all that is left is the crystal refraction of light, how the moon and its seas cut through the night in the winter. How taut Orion's bow is pulled, aimed at the wary and courageous Taurus, unblinking, untwinkling in sight of his own death. I've always envied the ancients, the number of stars that swaddled in their night sky. I think it is a crime we are taught what to see in the stars. Sure, part of me enjoys the history of it, but another part wishes I could have named them myself, found the shapes I saw most fit. A ladle instead of a bear. A Christmas tree instead of Perseus. A flower instead of the Pleides. Because really, to whom does the night sky belong? We belong to it. I wonder if God looks at the sky and sees our little blue floating sphere and calls us the eye of some great dog, Cerberus or Scooby, the watchdog, the guardian of the night.

A good weekend. We went out Friday night to Jake's Barbeque and I had a cow on a plate, smothered in Texas-style barbeque sauce. We were celebrating Jessie's parents 32nd wedding anniversary. Holy. Crap. That is a long time, with no signs of slowing down. Jessie's parents amaze me. Inspire me. My parents were married 23 years. I've been alive longer than my parents were together, and here is Jessie, never having known that, never knowing what that is like, 32 years passing by expected, waited for, assured. A gift. That is what a marriage is. A column in the forum of the world, holding all the other friezes up in the sky. Married couples are like black holes, holding the galaxy of disparate people together, providing haven, release, serenity in the security of their gravity. Force-fields of sanity. At least, that has always been what happily married people have made me feel. Not that its a prerequisite, but there is a reason it is old.

Jess and I went to the Cheesecake Factory on Monday for lunch. We awoke and shared eye crusties, and then had a delicious lunch. On Sunday, we went to Wal-Mart and, remembering yet again why I want to punch the corpse of Sam Walton, we waded through the trough of lower-class Americans and purchased our question marks, including a sled, which we took to Frick Park and sledded down the hill three times with no hat or gloves. It felt so good to fall on each other at the bottom, to hurtle towards the trees and then crash in a burst of snowflakes, our legs intertwined, our faces wet. We came home and cleaned my room, which was by all accounts declared a national state of emergency, and Jessie used her Mary Poppin's power to heal it, to reshape it into something beautiful and sane. I bought one of those little stone water fountains. Its trickling in the background now, perched on my radiator, its drip drip drip filling the dark of my room with a comforting ambience. We moved my bed so my feet are at the radiator and thus never cold, and my computer and piano switched, making a grand entranceway into my tiny bedroom. I love it. Love it love it love it. I can create here. I can be sane here.

I stood outside tonight, cigarette between my fingers, watching the snowflakes fall. I really am not a smoker, adoring blog posts aside. I realized that I like fire and I like smoke, so I'm hoping soon to get a fireplace so I can stop being the chimney. But, they taste like peace to me. It is a grand irony, much like anything fried, that that which is pleasurable is in many cases bad for you. And there is no moderation in smoking. A piece of cake once in awhile will not kill you, but a cigarette, even one a day, has been shown to have deleterious effects on one's health (I've been reading up.) Jessie's new tactic, which I find brilliant, is to instead of attacking my smoking, attack my cigarettes.

Ex:

Jess: "What kind of cigarettes are you smoking?"
Me: "Marlboro Lights."
Jess: "Oh, wow. Real man cigarettes. Bet the light ones taste extra manly."
Me: "Shut up. The real ones kill you."
Jess: "I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you over your manliness. Have another light cigarette."

It's strangely effective. I find myself wanting to smoke real Marlboro's, and at the same time I have no interest. It's like I smoke for a reason to go outside and watch the snowflakes shiver, drink so I can hear the trees talking or the water falling. A good couple of days. I wish I was sled-riding.

Hope you've been well. I'm hanging in there. Sending lots of e-mails, which is awesome and I love how I've rekindled old correspondences and how much they are adding to my life. I've been composing, too. Mat and I worked for a number of hours tonight on building up the Dragontamer theme. When I'm with Mat (and I told him this today), I really get a sense of the journey as the destination. Walking the creative path with him is so satisfying its hard not to confuse the walking with the point, you know? As though sitting down and writing and talking and laughing were what I am here to do, who I am here to be. He's worried about me, and I'm worried about him worrying. We had Chinese tonight and watched the Penguins win. He is a gift from God.

I'm heading to Philadelphia this weekend, and hopefully planning a return trip to Houston in the coming months. Traveling, moving out of my own space, is very exciting and it is helping me to focus on the corners of my own space. Now I listen to the water and don't feel such an urge to run. The gift of a made bed. Of a laundry basket. Of curtains.

Sleep well.

always,
m