So often, I find myself needing to start journal entries with the word “yesterday,” or the phrase “last night” or “this past weekend.”  I think it’s a good habit.  Needing to move again through yesterday, to put it in order before trying to put this day in order.  I have all these bats flying around, or things all over the floor.  Sometimes, on the other hand, yesterday was a day that was born in order, a day that was lived effortlessly, and a revisit is more like a … reflex of joy, I suppose, than a clean-up.  Yesterday was such a day.

After oversleeping and staying in bed too long, we missed church and went to Java for coffee.  This is the only coffeeshop in town that brews Counter Culture coffee, and we come here whenever we need A Ravishingly Good Cup.  (First typed “A Good Cup,” erased and typed “An Extremely Good Cup”; more accurate, now.)   Good Cups downed, Marshall took me home and took his laptop out somewhere to work on a model for his company.  And I, who self-identify as Mole from The Wind in the Willows most of the time (when I’m not self-identifying as Jo March from Little Women, or Amelie from Amelie), stayed at home and did domestic things with the kind of very real happiness that inspired the very ridiculous happiness of Snow White in the house of the dwarves.  Would you believe how lovely it was to do laundry, clean up the kitchen, and make a cake.

Probably not.  But it was so lovely, and all the time I was thinking about my quilt, the new one I’m making, the one that’s going to be made entirely from the napkins we had at our wedding.  The cutting mat with stacks of 7″ triangles was just in the other room, waiting for me.  Ah!  Delicious to think.

The cake: I meant to make this Guinness chocolate cake for Marshall’s birthday friend gathering on the 14th, but I was having a rough day, and when I messed something up early in the process, I just poured it out in the backyard and cried on my bed for a while.  And then made brownies for the friends.  Yesterday, however, opened like a door.  Beckoned like a field of flowers.  I made that cake and it is now the best and prettiest cake I have ever made.  After a pizza with Cherokee Purple tomatoes, shallots, peppers, basil, and farmer’s cheese, we had cake, and felt so happy and ill for hours after.

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And Saturday.  We got up and went to Samantha’s yard sale, bought two prints and two drawings/paintings and some other random stuff.  It is so wonderful to own art, good art, art made by friends.  Mostly I guess I’m saying that it’s wonderful to be able to afford it.  These pieces are some of the most beautiful.  We came home and spent the next half hour figuring out where to hang them.  The four photographs are in the kitchen, now, and the two drawings/paintings are in the hall…Oh.  Ohlovely.

And after a lazy afternoon, cutting triangles for my quilt and watching A Bit of Fry and Laurie (which is my new favorite T.V.), we had an exhausting and encouraging fight (in turn), and went to Adam’s for Carla’s birthday, where we just loved those two.  Another good day.

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Here’s what I want: I want to write about marriage, since that’s where I am.  I can’t write about being happily / miserably single, anymore; now I have to write about being happily / miserably married.  It is hard to know what to write.  It’s hard to get your bearings in a new ship on new seas.  But I’m starting to.  It’s good work.  Work worth doing, even if it feels so very unglamorous.

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