Sunday, July 2, 2000

3:15 a.m. Yesterday lasted quite a bit longer than I'd expected. The very excellent Topsy Turvy didn't stop showing at the theatre nearest us (a.k.a. the living room) until nearly 5:30 in the morning. I loved every minute of the movie, even though I've always been a stranger to Gilbert and Sullivan light operetta.

I found out an interesting tidbit this evening as I was trying to catch up on my very backed-up reading ... one of the stars of the opera company, George Grossmith, went on to write a fictional account of his life after he left the stage. It's a book I've wanted to read for a long time: The Diary of a Nobody by Charles Pooter.

Not that these paragraphs are going to be in any way connected, one to the other, except by proximity.

Today I learned, once again, that the things we most dread are always, always the things that give the most pleasure. Every time you do something you've been putting off, you feel good about it for a long time afterward. I wonder why we don't learn that lesson?

Why, if I've exercised -- after avoiding it in every possible way -- do I feel so good afterwards?

Why, if I've managed to diet -- after dreading the rigors of it -- do I feel as if I deserve a medal?

Why, if I've gone sailing -- after trying to squirm out of it a hundred different ways -- do I feel so wonderful and righteous and pleasantly alive at the end of the day?

Why do I go right back and start avoiding the good, the difficult thing all over again? The devil truly resides in our most lethargic moments, an unwelcome anchor in the weak, tired times. It is so hard to get moving when he's whispering "What's the use?" in your ear.

Needless to say, after pottering and muttering and doing just one more load of laundry, I did pack my bags full of MacAddict and pens and paper and we set off for the boat and in fact, had a short but really nice little sail today. I might almost be getting used to the thing. I think I finally and totally and utterly and profoundly know the difference now between port and starboard, and I know what a jib is, as well.

I'm also doing what I can to try to make the boat more pleasant, including hanging some hooks and masterminding some new pillow covers, but not (I solemnly promise) putting up any fou fou puffy curtains on the windows, although I'd sure like to.

It's the melon ball center of the summer coming upon us now, sweet and tender and warm and juicy and I was really glad to be out on the water today. It was as crowded as I've ever seen it, and the police helicopters and light planes and Sheriff vessels and towing services were all crisscrossing the air and water waves, officiously honking and pulling people over and generally patrolling.

I was also able to go down below while we were out on the water for a couple of brief reconnaissance missions without getting seasick. Progress. Growth is possible. Change is good. I swear, one of these days, I'm even going to start exercising.

I only wish I could stockpile some of these sunny hours for the long nights ahead in just a few months. I have the strength and energy of ten people these long lovely days, and I don't want to give all this up when October blows hard against the door frame. It's a struggle.

But, that's for another time, a thick soup supper time -- and not for now. For now, these are the parfait days.