Goethe

It is late night and I should be in bed, but sleep does not come to me much now and does not seem to want my company tonight, so I pour another scotch and sit to write for I can think of nothing else.  

Life is interesting from time to time, though it gets more disappointing, too.  Happiness and sorrow no longer come in equal portions, nor are they as strong as once they were, either.  But as I say, life is still surprising.  

I spoke with one of the men at the factory today who works "for" me.  He is older than I and needs not work, but I have convinced him that he is important to what we do and he is pleased enough to come back and lend his considerable talents.  He has recently fallen and damaged his leg, and he is in despair, a bit, because he has always been an athlete and a runner.  And though he is beyond the age where most of us retire, he had begun to run once more and now it is possible that he won't again in his lifetime.  He is taking it as one might expect.  We talked.  Many people have it bad, I told him as if he needed to be told which he didn't, and indeed it is only my position, perhaps, that lets him smile at my presumptuousness though I know he likes me, too.  There is that and there is what both he and I believe and stand for, a sincere and deep conviction of the profound goodness of life and one man's or woman's attempts to make it better.  We talked about diminishing pleasures and the greatness that small pleasures carry, qualities overlooked by each of us in our youth.  A cup of tea, we agreed, and the contemplative happiness it can bring, loom larger than it once did.  And such a thing as that can become enough.  He is a great and grand fellow.  

So there was that and there was this.  A young woman who works in another part of the factory, a new hire known for her intelligence and beauty, told me  in front of an audience that she needed my telephone number.  Eye rolls and catcall made her blush a little but not flinch.  I will give it to her, perhaps, though it matters little now.  It was the public showing that mattered most, the reaffirmation of something I thought might be gone.  

Tonight I shot with a model who once stood me up.  Fortunately, I never see the profit in punitive behavior, and tonight she was more than a delight.  She was lovely in every way imaginable.  The photos were good, but it was more than that.  

And when I got home late after the shoot, there were messages waiting for me that rarely come.  The woman from Korea had invited me to come to see her this spring.  It is lovely, she says, and the food will be wonderful.  She spoke at length of the good things we'd eat, sashimis and sushis and rich, fresh vegetables.  I can't imagine why I wouldn't go.  

And there were others I can't tell right now, lovely things from people who worry about me because of what I write.  This blog is an internal weather report, of course, and just now it is cloudy.  And I feel rich from the concerns that I never imagine exist for me.  It is more than I can say.  

Even the long-gone Manhattan girl managed to drop me a line.  No, more than a line which is highly unusual.  It makes me believe in astrology.

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And with that, I went to bed and slept like a dead animal for a few hours.  I read back on what I wrote this morning and wonder if maybe the model from last night didn't slip me some of that legal ecstasy you can buy in smoke shops and on the internet.  I sound like I was having an emotional orgy.  

But the dawn breaks flamingo pink beneath a blanket of clouds, and maybe all of last night's emotional energy will remain.  Two days until the equinox (though I've not checked with my astrologer who I suspect will refute this) and I feel. . . swollen with excitement.  

Feel free to take the bait.