JOURNAL, Sunday, Feb. 3rd

The sun poured down like butterscotch
And stuck to all my senses.
(“Chelsea morning” Joni Mitchell)

Last night, Danny and I were at a rescheduled Christmas staff party. John, the principal at school, has a beautiful home on a lake just outside of town. What a wonderful place to retire to at the end of the day, or the end of a career.

On the way home Danny pulled over to the side of the road and stopped the car. There was nothing but the stillness of the snow-covered field around us with a small winter moon and a sky full of stars above. Danny got out of the car and came around to my door to open it; I followed, not sure what he was up to. He took my hand and we walked around to the back of the car. He pulled me to him, my back against his chest, his mouth beside my ear so he could whisper how much he loves me. He wrapped his arms around me over my folded arms, our hands clasped together for warmth and connection.

Together, we looked at the stars, and for the second time in recent history I was reminded of Bill’s story of the origin of my name. But this time, wrapped as I was in Danny’s warmth, I could hear the story in its simple purity and innocence, without the anger or the embarrassment of a little kid being told more than she wants to know, being made the keeper of adult intimate moments.

For the first time I could see two young lovers, infatuated, in love, in lust, “doing it” in the magical warmth of an evening in the early fall, with the crickets and cicadas to provide the music and the few newly fallen leaves for their mattress and incense. Safe in Danny’s arms, I could smile at their happiness.

I sighed, relaxing back against him and he asked me what I was thinking. I smiled but said it was nothing; I didn’t want him getting any ideas until we were warm and cozy, back in the apartment.

All my senses are enjoying a heightened newness that might have made me uncomfortable before but amuses me now. Here’s an example of what I mean. When Danny moved in, he brought with him a half empty bottle of green dishwashing liquid whose smell transported me back – how many years – to the galvanized washtub full of dishes in the outdoor kitchens where mom worked during the festivals when I was a kid. I remember I would sit beside the tub and look at the swirl of emerald green poured over the ruts of metal in the bottom of the tub, and watch it miraculously melt and be transformed into a layer of bubbles when someone added the big pots of heated water for washing dishes. I would watch as the water was poured, and feel the warmth of the spray as the stream hit the empty bottom and bounced up in droplets that sometimes landed on my face. What a nice memory and how new and unusual that such a memory would come back to warm me on a cold January morning, coaxed from where it’s been hiding for so many years by the fresh, clean smell of Danny’s dish soap.

I see many things differently now. I don’t know if Danny is the cause of it, but I’m glad he’s here to be part of it with me. Here’s another example: I would have considered myself a conservative dresser, a wearer of subdued colours – navy, black, charcoal, usually contrasted with white. But when I went looking for something to wear to the party last night, I had to laugh at what my closet revealed. It’s as if someone else had been out shopping for me and had left the hot pink skirt and the floral print, rayon tops for me to discover. When I bought these things over the past few months, I bought them because I liked them, not necessarily because I would wear them. But this new sense of awareness has made me appreciate how much I like having more colour, texture and spontaneity in my life. I wore the pink.

On Friday, we went out for dinner and Danny choose for me from the menu. It was a Greek restaurant and I’m not familiar with what they serve. Normally I would have ordered something safe, like a salad and left it at that but I wanted to try something new. So I gave Danny permission to order for me – after I reminded him three times of what types of food I like and dislike. (I can’t completely abandon myself to his judgment just yet.) I’m glad I did it – it was delicious: layers of potatoes, meat, cheese and tomatoes. It felt like comfort food.

Laundry is yet another adventure into this new sphere of awareness. Last night we were going to go to the Laundromat together but Danny had to work late. I decided to go alone rather than wait for him; it was the first time I’d done laundry for the two of us. I’m sure I’d seen every piece of clothing that Danny owns, but doing laundry is different: the ritual of turning out pockets, of examining labels that had always been hidden before, of folding out wrinkles from the soft brushed cotton gives one a new sense of intimacy and knowledge.

And Danny’s music! It’s funny how a person’s taste in music can go pretty much unnoticed until you share your sound system with them. Since Danny moved in, I’ve been exposed more thoroughly to music that I’d previously only heard in passing. Dixieland Jazz, and Tom Waits spring to mind as examples of directions in which my tastes are being stretched, and generally speaking, I like it.

I really don’t know how much of this new joy and colour in my life came with Danny when he moved in, or is it more a result of the work that I’ve been doing with the writing, or maybe it’s just longing for spring that has opened up so many new doors for me. I guess, as in most things, it’s probably a combination of circumstances that bring about growth and change, but I’m glad that it’s happened. I wonder if anyone else notices a change in me.

Copyright 2003