Carolyn called last night. I was in the middle of cooking dinner when the phone rang. It always surprises me that she still exists. Hearing her voice on the other end of the phone is like hearing the voice of a famous person -- Nick Nolte or George Clooney -- calling to see if I'll meet him for a beer.
Small talk. Kids good. Dog good. Life good. Work happening.
When I was single before, I thought a lot about getting laid. Getting drunk, getting laid, and fixing whatever problem had to be fixed as a result of either of the latter. Or both.
Now I think about having a good drink. The right whiskey, with a long smokey finish. I think about whether it matters if I plant heirloom or hybrid tomatoes. I think about soil and the eggshells in my compost and earthworms.
I don't seem to know exactly how to think about a woman, however. Like trying to teach oneself to do a tri having never quite mastered swimming.
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