Two posts back, one post forward. If you were wondering, I deleted what I could while I could to save face. It is never okay to name drop on the Internet. It is not my style and yesterday's post about swimming lessons and my inexplicable feelings towards lost loves were just that, inexplicable. Sorry I came to that. Name dropping, it is not usually my style. Thus, delete. No one wants to be that girl, hung up. So, I am sorry for being that girl. Hung up.
Onward and upward. Resolution sans guilt.
Tonight was a night of forgetting a day spent crying into sourdough dough. I had dinner with my lovely brother at our favorite restaurant and he dropped me at my friend Leigh's who is fresh off the Paris boat and still jet lagged. There were six people at his "I am home" party and that was the perfect amount. Conversation was fluid and thoughtful, interchanging, chameleon-like and warm all at the same time. Arms were waved, six bottles of wine enjoyed over six different veins of conversation, plus. We spoke of design, art, child rearing, baby names, espresso beans, old jobs, future jobs, the choosing of partners, the benefits of young marriage, the benefits of late marriage, birth control, male birth control (wtf), wood working, custom trades, Montreal friends (Loco and JJ) and so on. Rob rubbed his hands together in the middle of everything and we all followed suit because it felt necessary, and it felt great. I love Rob Vilar and his musical taste. He has a great radio voice. We all spoke in circles and squares and traded partners of conversation until everyone was tired. Then Leigh started making espresso around midnight and again we launched back into it all. Nils walked me home. Him in his Sorels and offered his married arm to me because my stylish brogues had no grip. On the way home we spoke arm in arm of architecture down Assinaboine, Montreal over the Osborne bridge, moped high hopes and top secret opportunities well into the Village. He is great company.
I only bailed once on Nassau and thankfully he was long in bed with his lovely lady before he saw me splay knees first on uneven turf. I fell, laughed, picked myself up and crawled into my own bed, happy for the friends and neighborhood and community I have. Grateful, beyond happy even. I lay down happy and hopeful for the weekend (and art show that I have my first silk screen prints in) that lies ahead and the dancing that has yet to be danced. Everything looks promising, even though I reek of Parisian cigarette smoke not smoked by me. Second hand Parisians. I will take what I can get.
Glad to have you home Leigh. One down, a hundred friends to go. Everyone always comes back to the nest. Thankfully, there is espresso late, late in the night and night bottles of Malbec and foreign chocolate until they arrive.
With wings flapping in anticipation, Madge.