I had dinner alone with my daughter last night. She has decided she needs to try new things, so she asked to go to a Thai restaurant. She ordered a yellow curry and I got a Pad Thai and we both enjoyed it all. What’s not to love? We chatted about going to Thailand and widened our eyes at the massive ear rings, the size of golf balls in the ears of a man behind us. Afterwards we roamed Urban Outfitters and she showed me all the things she wants to buy (or more to the point, wants me to buy her). Rare are the moments I spend alone with her.
Later, I took Harley outside, trying to get her to poop, so she wouldn’t do it on the floor in the middle of the night, and met a jazz singer and teacher named Maggie, who fell in love with my dilapidated ball of yellow fur. Somehow, we got talking and we each revealed our losses. Hers was her fiance and brother all in one year. We talked about how lovely it was to be in “the zone” when working creatively, how hard it was sometimes to get there. For a moment, I felt a tinge of the serendipitous magic that I have been craving lately, just talking with her. I think she felt it too.
This morning at 6:30, I lifted the dog off the floor, only to discover she was covered in poop, as I now was. I have already cleaned the white shag carpet and sprayed her down and I haven’t even had my tea yet.
Ah, the magic of life…