Welcome To My Bed

Magic morsel #1.

I'm starting a new thing here, a kind of shorthand for the things that make me smile. They will turn up whenever I think that a smile is particularly worth sharing. This featured moment will from here on be referred to as a "magic morsel", "magic" because at work there is an appetizer labeled "magic" that is made with some kind of sorcery-related jalapeno bacon (INSANITY), and "morsel" because I never see that word in print except on bags of Toll House chocolate chips. And even though jalapeno bacon and chocolate chips seems disparate, they are both very important. Anyway. Moving on.


late night at Chinatown Pizza, eons ago

It may be the icy wind chill that feels akin to a large, deadly sharp knife being dragged through the gaps between buildings, but the cause matters not--I have been missing New York. I could not tell you why. Or rather, I would not attempt to pin it down to a single reason. But it is there, shaking inside my chest like a rabbit afraid of freezing. Every time the wind hit my face today while Cass and I braved the cold to run errands, it felt like stepping up out of a subway tunnel to street level and getting blasted by a nasty gust. Whether that is to blame or not for my pining, what I can tell you is that serendipity brought me today's magic morsel, a passage from Kundera (again, I know).

Franz said, "Beauty in the European sense has always had a premeditated quality to it. We've always had an aesthetic intention and a long-range plan. That's what's enabled Western man to spend decades building a Gothic cathedral or a Renaissance piazza. The beauty of New York rests on a completely different base. It's unintentional. It arose independent of human design, like a stalagmitic cavern. Forms which are in themselves quite ugly turn up fortuitously, without design, in such incredible surroundings that they sparkle with a sudden wondrous poetry."

Of course the "p" word shows up, just to mock me for having not written. Reading this on the ouch during dinner made me think of taking Owen to that flea market while I was home for the holidays, how we walked slowly, arm in arm, making sure to look up the whole time we were on the sidewalk so that we'd take in absolutely every detail we could get. And the details one of us neglected, the other would point out. It reminded me of doing drawings in high school and having Meredith scold me for laboring obsessively over one area where all my favorite lines intersected, how she would smile even when giving criticism because she knew how much I loved the mess of it. It's been a long time since I've had a hand blackened with graphite, or been that in awe of a world that's gotten quite a bit smaller as I've gotten older. But a small mess is still a delight. I am holding my breath for the next road trip.