Ah, May Day, the first day of summer. The birds are already celebrating. The bees, I'm not so sure about. Finally, last week, the NY Times ran the story about the disappearing bees, about two months behind everyone else. No-one is panicking as they're more interested in Obama/Clinton, the Tenet tell-all and the mishandling of the "war" in Iraq. I'm thinking of hawthorn blossom and maypole dancers and wondering whether I should make Minks pasta salad for school lunch. It is the week of the school play, the week of mean photographers, the week of J's birthday. Yesterday I felt like Julianne Moore in Magnolia, but without the pills. I'm reading Bennett Cerf's biography and he certainly perks you up - he has a marvellously upbeat and lilting way of writing about his life, one that makes you rather shameful of your own self-indulgent wining. I missed my father so much last night that I had to drive up to Mullholland and talk to him. I'm sure it made no sense, even if he was listening, as I was a little what I like to call hysterical. I imagined myself in his big warm sky blue cashmere cardigan and it all got a bit better.
Neil Drysdale gave me a horse for a dollar -- Silver Royal, a four year old Northern Dancer colt, off the track, never been raced. Sweet, sweet boy, bay, like a dog, danced his way to Middleranch and has subsequently calmed down. Being the great business man I am, I doubled my money, sold him to Audrey for two bucks. Only a week earlier she sat at my dining room table and wished for a horse. She's never had one. Only ever ridden other people's. One of the best riders I know though. It made me realize that what you put out there in the universe can in fact be yours. She loves him completely. Has renamed him Optimistic, Opie for short. Spends mornings and afternoons in his pipe corral, talking to him. He hasn't even had a saddle on him yet.
Try it, asking for something that you want. Not just inside your head but out loud, preferably with witnesses. Not that I think that my father is going to miraculously materialize... but the cardigan is here.
