Happy Anniversary Mom & Dad!

What a night?! And what a day too, eh? Today is the anniversary of my parents' wedding. They have been married for 39 years! I can tell you this, "forever is a long time." And like my Dad has also said, "choose your mate wisely." My folks are simply remarkable people. They have not just a love for each other, but after all these years, and most importantly, a friendship. I can only dream about growing old with someone, while maintaining the youthful zeal that they two possess. But for now, I take my days one at a time.

Like today, it was hot hot hot here in San Francisco, but there was an idle wind that made it all the more glorious and bearable. I spent my day drinking iced coffee and cleaning house (see cute kitchen inset). Each window was open to its very fullest capacity, a state in which they rarely have the opportunity to exist. My poor roommate, Gris Gris, however,had a rough time with the heat. While I'm a lady who sacrifices comfort for fun fashion on occasion, my little mister has to wear his fur coat each and everyday. He slept far more than his usual 13 hour daily feline requirement, stretched out on my bed in a his longest yoga inspired elongated position. Nevertheless, I think he'd admit that this day was no less than spectacular.

After briskly walking about my neighborhood with a girlfriend, taking in the sights and running some could be mundane errands, it was a pleasure just to be outside, to be alive and well in the sunlight. My evening was also chalk full of crafty chores, but it, like my afternoon, maintained a truly charming ambiance. I sat and reminisced and caught up with three of my most favorite ladies over some rose wine and olive oil soaked herb slab bread. Our stage had as its backdrop the most spectacularly familiar vistas of my neighborhood and the city in which it rests, snug and simple and stellar. A perfect saunter home, I saw tennis players taking advantage of the late setting sun, and passers by embracing each other in the heat, but more concerned with the production of their own . . .

My phone rang at 9:27 and I hoped it was who it ended up being. I am stuck right now, in a purgatory of sorts, where my heart vacillates between the need to forget and the want to acknowledge his presence. We chatted briefly and I felt good. But our relationship wasn't always so, and continues to struggle with boundaries and contact and effort and even time spent driving. We may be in each other's company tomorrow. I do have my own obligations and schedule, laundry with Mol and pilates. But maybe tucked into my Sunday, we will share some moments. Maybe tomorrow will be the day that I say "I need to get over you, but cannot do it in your presence. I need space. Space and time and thoughts away from you." Or maybe tomorrow could be the day that he apologizes for our fork in the road. I always prefer spoons to forks - their rounded silhouettes, their curved ability to balance on my contoured nose - but unlike a spoon, our union has splintered and become a fork. Oh fork I say! I don't know if we'll have dinner, where cutlery reality and metaphors abound, or if we'll sit and stare and realize that forks and spoons don't match. And a knife could inevitably surface to really cut our ties, our losses, our fears and our comfort levels. Alas, I cannot know, as it is right now, tonight, and not yet tomorrow. Wish me luck. Not the kind that would reunite a perfect table setting (utopia), but the kind of luck that lotto players feel when they win. "I tried, bought the ticket, but never expected this win, this victory, this payback, this acknowledgement resulting in such (albeit monetary) freedom." I would like that luck. The hope to win, without any expectations to do so. Just fingers crossed behind my back. But you know what? I think I should reevaluate my vision of luck, I should think that I am the winning ticket. If not for this game player, for someone else. But perhaps for now, just for me.