Or what? My daughter the makeup artist (and so much more!) tagged me to post three things I love, not to include my husband, my children, or Diet Coke (everyone loves those!). Here are three things I love:
1. I love the movies. I said to my friend the poet Jennifer once that I thought I loved movies more than literature. "I think we all feel that way at least sometimes," she said in a reasonable tone. There are times at the movies when I think life just doesn't get better this: when the way the opening frames unfold makes me feel like sitting up and paying attention with every cell in my body, or like I can relax into total bliss. Remember the beginning of Trainspotting? When Renton and Spud are racing along the pavement, and Renton, in voiceover, says, "Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family, Choose a fucking big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. " Remember that? I loved that. [note: for those who love me but don't love that language, please forgive me. But I did love it.]
2. I love cooking a feast for my family. I have a little book that, come to think of it, my daughter the makeup artist gave me; in this book, I plan the meal, including sometimes the platters and bowls upon which I will serve each dish. I write recipes that I have devised in the process of cooking the feast. I label the event and sometimes the date. I love the planning, the shopping, the feast itself, and the aftermath, even, when we sometimes do three loads of dishes in the dishwasher. The historian is an excellent collaborator, making the house fit for company while I cook. We both clean up, and he is endlessly tolerant of my post-game analysis. "Wasn't that sauce amazing? I think everyone loved the salad. It was cool to have three desserts, didn't you think? I think everyone had a great time, don't you?" Plus--the leftovers.
3. I love it when Bruiser runs. Last night, after it snowed a little during the evening, the historian and I took Bruiser out for a walk. Because it was dark and not very many people or cars were about, we let him run without holding his leash--he's become more responsive, not as in days of yore when he would bolt out the front door and play keep-away endlessly. He'd draw up to a fence or a low-lying shrub or a lamppost or a mailbox to sniff it diligently, deposit three drops of pee, and sniff again. Then he'd wheel around and run for one hundred feet or so, pause to check out our progress behind him, locate another sniffable object to investigate and mark. It was a lovely half hour, watching a completely happy dog take off in search of the purely beautiful, cold, fascinating world.
I feel that Abbey, counterintuitive, assertively unhip, Dr. Write, middlebrow, and gilian should declare their loves. No spouses, children, or beverages allowed.