Morning Coffee was the name of a now-lost novella I wrote on my first computer, wayyy back in the early 90s. Just came to me as I down my first cup, Italian blend, by Starbucks, in my favourite cup that Mike bought me last year when we were leaving New York City, after visiting my dear friend L., whom I talked to on the phone last night for over an hour. So I have New York on the brain, especially after missing my visit with L. in August due to a certain storm bearing down on NYC the exact weekend I had planned to go. Anyway. We will see each other sooner rather than later, I think.
What else can I tell you?
I made an amazing chicken curry last night, watching Kitchen Nightmares and other shows about New Jersey (New Jersey seems like a VERY scary place to me with some of these characters), and I finished re-reading Blue Nights.
I've been up since 5 am. After going to bed after midnight. After the Blue Nights, I started reading the Nile Rodgers memoir last night, Le Freak,
as I promised myself I would, as soon as it could have my full attention.
I can't put it down. I'm about a third of the way through, smack in the middle of Rodgers' account of being on the brink of making it really big. His childhood stories were brilliant. One thing in memoir, I often don't like reading about people's childhoods, maybe because I'm so reluctant to re-visit my own, but Rodger's is riveting. New York in the fifties, moving to LA, then back and forth between the 2coasts, a simple, straightforward writing style, not unlike Julia Cameron's Floor Sample--meaning, telling it 'as it happened' no flowers. Didion does the flowers, and the craft, and I have to say, jumping into this book after Blue Nights is like jumping into cold bright water after sitting and staring at it for a long time.
What I'm saying is that I have been very lucky with my reading choices this year--the books, as they always seem to, choose me.
Ok what else.
Talked to L. as I mentioned, for a long time. Don't judge me, and I don't mean this as a knock to all my wonderful friends with kids, but the child-free woman I am loves talking to another child-free woman. Talking about our lives, not the lives of the little people that someone is mothering. And I support and respect all choices, but I'm just saying.
It was nice. What we want, what the next move is, how it's gonna play out. Making life happen.
It's possible I want to wear black to my wedding. Is this allowed? Not in a 'goth bride' kind of way, but in a 'I like wearing black and not white' kind of way.
L. told her roommate while we were on the phone, and he was somewhat alarmed.
http://blackcatbaby.tumblr.com/
L. then proceeded to send me some black dress ideas.
I hate to admit this. I love EVERY SINGLE ONE on her tumblr.
I mean it.
I wrote this morning, earlier. Not in my blog, but in my fawn-lark journal, paying homage to December the 10th. It's strange. It's not a birthday of anyone I know, but it's an anniversary of sorts. Of lost love, of old friends. It's hard to describe, and it's journal material. Let me just say this; my imminent wedding to Mike does bring me back to all the "Mr. Wrongs" as I mentioned in my posting yesterday.
I think of my years as a quirky alone, but always enjoying male company, as the training ground for me to be able to have the type of relationship I can now have with Mike.
Hindsight.
That's about it for a Saturday morning.
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