I want to hang on to the little things - the moments of an unremarkable Sunday. The sounds of the birds chirping in the backyard at the end of an afternoon, louder and closer than the street noise or the freeway.
Seeing a hummingbird just an arm's length away, out the back window.
The punctuation of an impromptu ping pong game in the unfinished attic overhead - Jim taking time out from his work, distracting Cooper from a fight with his sister by challenging him to a match. More than once, the ball escapes down the stairs. It makes that hollow sound, so distinct - a
n echo of church basements, suburban garages, and renovated
rec rooms across America.
A black cat and a white dog curled up in different zones on the bed while I read a novel from start to finish in a day. A friend wrote and gave me this book as a gift. (That's actually pretty remarkable - both the fact that I have friends and neighbors who write fantastic books, as well as t
he novel itself: Angels Crest by Leslie Schwartz. I can't wait to call her tomorrow and tell her
how terrific it was, how much I enjoyed her writing.)
I saw a French film at the DGA today, Welcome, about Iraqi
immigrants trying to make their way from France to England. I always thought we Americans were the most intolerant and xenophobic people in the world. Turns out, we might not be. We can be fined for hiring undocumented workers, but in France - if this movie is accurate - people can be arrested for "harboring" or helping them - giving them warm jackets. Wow.
Went to a barbeque on Benton, saw some friends and ate two hot dogs. Delicious. Drank the first pull from Coryander's Diet Coke then handed it back to her. She didn't mind. I knew she wouldn't.
Got a call from a man who spoke very little English. Said he found a book on a bus stop with my name and number in it. Met him at the library on Alvarado and Sunset moments later. He brought two little kids with him and gave me the book. Thanks, I said. Dana thought he might have wanted a reward. Maybe, but it didn't seem so. While I was waiting for him, I saw Heather get on a bus, heading for the Festival of Books at UCLA.
Text messages and phone calls: Blaire is back from Chicago, Amanda and I are playing phone tag, Susan slept until 10, Devon is putting her kitchen back together and running off to Tom's play, Jane missed her softball game, Greg is too busy to go to the movies, Ann is also at the Festival of Books, Dana figured out Facebook for her Treo, George is having a long and leisurely breakfast.
These are the days when I'm in my village, and I know I'm not alone.
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