Painted late at night after a meeting of friends. The house feels quiet after all the conversation and laughter. I can hear insects outside, and soft music on the radio, and the keys clicking on the computer as I type. We can sleep late tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. The long weekend will pull summer to a conclusion in a rhythm of gatherings and errands, conversations and companionable silences.
August 2007 Archives
On the table. A friend called and then stopped by to get some water - a break in a large city main this afternoon left certain neighborhoods with diminished pressure or no water at all. I happened to draw a water tower involved in the incident last winter, so I feel an extra level of connection to the news.
The youngest member of our household was so excited to be wearing new shoes on the second day of school that she forgot to put on one of her socks this morning. I wish I could say that I noticed before dropping her at the entrance to the playground. After school when I asked her about it, she said that she didn't notice it either until part way through the day when she realized that one foot was warmer than the other. Apparently absent-mindedness doesn't skip generations. (And I guess the new shoes are very comfortable.)
The standing lamp in one corner of the living room has been knocked over more times than I can count - it gets backed into, bumped by children, tripped over. We right it, replace the bulb if necessary, and go on. The shade has a slight warp in it now, and the last person who put it back left the seam showing in the front. We are not a raucous household, not given to tossing furniture about - the lamp is just tippy, poorly-designed. So why do we still have it? Because other than that, it works. And I think it acts as an early warning system that a game has gotten too rowdy, that grand gestures have gotten wild. (Crash. Sorry. You o.k.? Uh-huh.)
Went to a local cafe to hear poets read their work aloud tonight. Drew my coffee while I listened, listened while I drank it, and listened some more. The range and depth was phenomenal - and I am still hearing intonations, feeling the heat of metaphor, tasting a tomato, seeing an earwig in the sink. So many images - swirled with good caffeine and then time talking with friends afterwards. If there's a place in your community where poets read - go! Treat yourself. The world may be slightly different for you afterwards.
She threads herself through the space between the arm and the chair. She lies on the seat and stretches her feet up the back. Now she's facing forward. Now, with head hidden completely, foot kicking, she is almost still. We are coming down on the far side of summer vacation - soon the bedtimes will come earlier and no one will sleep in - but school is still more than a week away. For now, we let ourselves stay up a little too late...
I may regret it at this hour, but the taste - mmm. Our discovery of the summer is a new way of making iced coffee, courtesy of the New York Times. Cold brewing turns out to be easy - one pound of ground coffee to 8-10 cups of water steeped in a non-reactive container for 12-14 hours. Strain three times and refrigerate. Mix one part of this cold concentrate to three parts cold milk. Ice is optional.
Keeping a child company as she resists sleep. Even with fans running, the night is hot, the air is thick. I draw the reflection in part of the mirror - a section of ceiling, a corner where walls meet, part of a doorway. This is only a part of my day - a time for the edges of things and thoughts of what is just out of my view.