Garrett (garote) wrote,

Things I wish I wouldn't forget about this year

Driving up to San Francisco with three beautiful girls (including my wife), and playing my old Tori Amos mix tape through the iPod. We all belted out the lyrics, filling the car with sound, enjoying a nostalgic, bittersweet angst together. That tape is ten years old. I hadn't sung to it in at least five years. None of us wanted it to end. But then we got to San Francisco, and had ice cream!

Going in to a meeting at work, to interview a potential manager, and thoroughly describing my concerns in a fast-paced articulate speech - and realizing halfway through it that I felt passionate about the work I was doing and the team I was doing it for; I really did, and it was showing on my face ... and that the manager was thrown entirely off guard by it. Afterwards I thought to myself, "I really did get lucky with this job. The atmosphere is seeping in and electrifying me. I feel awake."

Sitting on the back porch, on a Saturday afternoon, leaning against the sun-baked wall of the house next to my budding jade plants, and waving a stalk of grass at Mira the cat. Watching her pounce on it from under my folded leg, twirl in midair, and perform other stunts. Feeling both indescribably happy and sad at the same time, reveling in the simple pleasure of that private moment while fully aware that the day would pass into nothing behind me, like every other day. Like every day eventually will.

Watching my wife get up from our booth at the Saturn diner ... and then pulling her into a dance, dipping low, steering her back down onto the seat of the booth and into an intimate hug. Touching her forehead to mine and staring. Knowing that other patrons were watching, and amused by our happiness. Having her tell me later on, "That was a great moment. I felt like we were in a movie." So did I.

Saying hello to Phaedra and Mike's new baby.

Going skiing for the first time in my life, under the tutelage of my friend Alex, and picking it up rapidly. Flying out of control down a slope, losing both skis at 30mph, and bouncing on my face, twice across a bank of fresh snow, knocking a lens out of my sunglasses. Getting up, wiping my face -- not a scratch on me anywhere -- thinking, "that was awesome!", and trudging back up to collect my skis and poles and continue down the mountain.

Listening to, and shouting right along with, every single member of a packed theatre audience when Samuel L. Jackson announced his feelings about [bleep] snakes on the [bleep] plane, then experiencing half a minute of the most thunderous applause and cheering I've ever heard for any kind of prerecorded performance. It was one line in a mediocre film, and people were jumping up and down on their seats. The perversity of it all was fantastic.

Picking up huge salads to-go, then driving with The La to a seam in the redwoods 20 minutes away. Spreading out our picnic blanket in a dusty sunbeam between winding patches of clover, and basking in the mild springtime heat of Santa Cruz. Playing ambient music from the open doors of the van to enhance the mood. Munching on salad with tahini dressing and potstickers, then walking along the bank of the stream, saying hello to the banana slugs and the water striders. Picking up a fancy speckled millipede on a stick and bringing it to The La for show-and-tell. Same with a big green clover. Finally packing up everything, when the sun had passed beyond our glade, and driving out of the woods for home.

Sticking the clover in a cup of water, where it continued to flap its leaves at the passing sun for many days. Finally adding it to the mulch pile in the back yard. Giggling uncontrollably at the cat, who spent a good ten minutes pawing dirt back over the pile; because apparently my job wasn't up to her standards. She looked absolutely ridiculous, smacking the dirt here and then there as if she wasn't entirely sure what she was doing, but was determined to keep doing it, for as long as it took.
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