Results matching “dog and danish”

One of the effects of burying oneself in work for an extended period of time is that upon digging out at last one feels so light and free that one is like to go flapping up into the sunshine without even touching the ground first to get a proper foothold on the day-in/day-out of normal life. It's like that sleepover stunt where you stand in a doorway and hold your arms straight while pressing the backs of your hands against the jamb for several minutes and then when you step away your limbs float upward as if buoyed by some spirit (perhaps the one that lends a hand in "Light as a feather, stiff as a board"?). To whit: so completely am I sucking the marrow out of this still-new month that I intend to leave it bird-bone hollow and scraping the stratosphere or else flattened out and panting on the pavement at the doorstep of April, exhausted but exhilarated. In short: It's good to be living again.

This week I'm spending three evenings somewhere other than in front of one of several glowboxes in my own home, and although the first event will still involve the teevee--I'm cordially invited to mockuttend the no-doubt MAGICAL JOURNEY that will be Jason and Molly's wedding (I hear it rains! goody!)--I still get points for (a) leaving the house and (b) indulging my vice vis-à-vis a "social event." With a nod to Billy Joel, we'll be sharing a drink they call The Bachelor, but it's better than watching alone.*

I'm also super-excited to be going on an actual baby-free date-like date with Simon tomorrow, for which we will dress up and hold hands and eat dinner together like old times, even if it means just wearing non-holey underwear and grabbing a weiner at TopDog which, although by no means high-class, at least bears some meaning to us and, of course, I don't think I'm going to hear complaints so long as weiner-grabbing makes its way into the night one way or another.

As for other out-of-doors, media-free diversions, it's a testament to how appreciative I am of freedom these days that I'm smiling instead of grimacing while standing, wind-whipped, in the backyard, up to my knees in weeds and my wrists in mud. In between the gales and downpours, though, it's more than pleasant here a lot of the time, and yesterday all three of us stayed at the park until the shadows and chill forced us and all the other toddler teams back home (or, in our case, for an impromptu Greek dinner with some friends before heading home). So full of the spirit of DOING was I that I barely even flinched when the other toddler parents at the park made ovations of forming a weekly playgroup there and then went around the circle introducing themselves and their children. (Winner of most unsual name: a darling little sprite named Duende.) I can't remember the last time a grown woman sidled up to me on a bench and asked, "So...you come here often?" I can't remember ever being so eager to accept her advances.

*The only thing sadder than going to a party to watch a Bachelor wedding for a season you didn't see is knowing you'd watch it at home by yourself anyway. (See also: actually giving a crap about the Oscars when I haven't been to a movie in more than a year (although, honestly, let's not fool ourselves--I really only want to see what everyone's wearing).)

As promised, Sunday morning we had our bagel date. But before hitting the bakery, we stopped down the block at a coffeeshop for hot drinks, and that progressive piecemeal method of building breakfast reminded me of last fall, when we ate dinner at the Top Dog counter several times a week and always brought our own jar of dill pickles from home. Once or twice, we also came with our own dessert--breakfast pastries--in large part so we could rationalize that our unhealthy eating habits were merely a side-effect of honoring our ancestry: all hail the Poles and the Danes.

Thus was born the "Dog and Danish" tradition, one of many frivolous diversions that remind us how well-matched we are. As we sat at the little round table outside the bagelry and watched people walk by with their cool shoes, goofy dogs, new babies, outrageous haircuts, and the like, I felt, for lack of a better word, extraordinarily present. I wasn't worried about the freelance work I needed to do or the shoes and jewlery I needed to buy for my new dress or the fact that I still don't have any type of itinerary for our stay in England. I was just there at that table, absorbing the temperature difference between my shoulders in the shade and my shins in the bright morning sun. The lox on Simon's bagel was so peach and exquisitely striated and it caught the light so beautifully that I almost wanted to crawl under it and tuck myself in. I have never wanted to use fish as a blanket before.

After bagels, we stepped into the Gap for just a second and Simon ended up harrassing the staff about everything from T-shirt sizes to jean washes ("These ones are too...blue, don't you think?") to the music playing over the in-store stereo. They must have thought us charming, however, because when we went back to the dressing rooms and disappeared into side-by-side doors, the staff basically ordered us to use the extra-large one together. It was waaaaaay at the end of the row, tucked back where the lights don't quite reach. Again with the flash photography and, also, dancing.

Another store and ten T-shirts later, we were back at home because I needed to get some freelance stuff out of the way. Simon called his bandmate for an impromptu jam, and while I indexed a book about Beaux-Arts architecture from bed, the boys played the blues in the music room, no doubt with big, un-bluesy smiles on their faces.

At that point, it had been exactly twenty-four hours since I'd been to the dress shop, and I still couldn't stop thinking about that second-best dress. It was classic, elegant, and it photographed like Grace Kelly herself. As you saw yesterday, Simon was not only in the dressing room with me making loud and sometimes suggestive comments while I tried out my options, but he was also taking flash pictures of me from every angle. And although he was right that one of the dresses was definitely "It," I discovered later that that one ended up looking a little lumpy and unflattering in the photographs, whereas the second-best dress looked just as good on the little digital screen as it did in real life. And since I was looking for a dress to be worn at a wedding at which many photographs will be taken and put on mantels for years to come, I got a wee bit panicked that in the "It" dress I'd look like a tied roast with a blonde ponytail.

So even though I already had a dress that I love and that will probably photograph perfectly well when done from a better angle than can be achieved within a cramped dressing room, I went back to the city and bought the second-best dress. And it was just as lovely as I remembered it. And ten dollars cheaper. Even though I can't think of when I'll have an opportunity to wear it, I will, as Lori commented yesterday, probably enjoy just wearing it around the house because it makes me feel so pretty. Grace Kelly, I tell you!

Simon's reward for accompanying me to the city again was that he'd get a chance to run around Golden Gate Park for an hour. I brought workout clothes and shoes so I could join him, but I ended up staying in the car talking on the phone with Teddy instead, which probably did me more good than exercising since I hadn't talked to him in nearly two weeks and that kind of distance is bad for my system. While Simon jogged through the Botanical Gardens in the rolling fog, Teddy and I talked vacations and cameras, and he shared the innocuous version of his July adventures in North Carolina and travels up the Eastern seaboard to his new temporary home in Philadelphia. (The non-innocuous stuff came in a letter the next day--a real, physical paper letter that was stamped and sent through the mail and everything. If you haven't sent or received an actual letter in a while, try it out; it feels great.)

When Simon returned sweaty and tired, we headed for our next engagement--meeting friends at Grove Cafe in Pacific Heights to drop off a bike rack Simon was releasing on permanent loan. We stayed for a short chat and an overpriced but delicious quesedilla and then we were on the road again, headed for home and a shower and a movie before bed.

After weekends like that, I always marvel at how much we can accomplish, and how much we can see, when we start the day out right--with a bagel date. It seems the less I try to control things, the more I'm open to the unexpected, to dress shopping at an unfamiliar store, brunch with unexpected guests, and an evening snack at an undiscovered café.

Here's a collection of photos from the weekend, at home and abroad. Color originals will be up on Flickr.