I was dancing in the snow. Jori was inside studiously researching component credenzas and branch-like chandeliers. I was giggling and I didn’t know why. My footsteps, the impressions they left in the snow, the snow I dropped into my glass of vodka, the chips of snow I tossed off the deck with a flamboyant flick of my wrist, at that moment those things were all brilliant, brilliant and delightful. The air was still and cold and so absent of humidity that the music playing from the outdoor speakers seemed crisper than usual. Crisper and more delightful than any music I had heard for some time.
Helado Negro, cool and understated, rang through the night as, childlike, I wrote the names of objects in the snow that topped those objects. I was so enjoying being in the snow that I was content with everything, at that moment. Periodically, I would open the door to see if Jori was interested in being in the snow with me, but she was warm, fireside, arranging interiors in her mind.
My mood was simply without cynicism. I was stupid happy. Earlier that day we had gone to the Lowe’s (a giant hardware store…a Wal-Mart like hardware store… a name which normally makes me recoil) and purchased candy cane lawn lights and a golden deer, La Biche D’or, so we could lay a candy cane path to our barn near which we placed the golden deer.
We intended to decorate the farm in a manner we would have easily dismissed as trashy not long ago. Was it? Could it? Were we sharing in a bit of Christmas cheer? Why should we be cheerful? We haven’t had a stellar year. We didn’t win the lottery. My cock neither grew in circumference nor length. Jori’s tits didn’t magically become more buoyant. But, for reasons unknown, we entered into a pact, a pact without self-consciously over analyzing our actions, without being repulsed at being just like John and Jenny Jones, devoid of the haunting vision of sheep, ignorant of the terrors of consumerism…stupid…happy. We chalked it up to “exhaustion.”
Has our whirlwind tour around the fray found its way into the bottleneck and funneled us into line, in formation, with the straights? Sitting at the gorgeous hexagonal corner table at our friend’s restaurant, Isa, I floated these ideas by our friend, Will Goldfarb. He looked at me like I had two heads and said, “I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re the most interesting person you know.” At which point he turned away from me and promptly ordered a third bottle of wine. There was some truth to what he said, but most of all I was left wanting. We were left wanting.
In the series of those few days, though, we did learn a couple of things:
1. At night, in order to find your way to Blue Heron Barn just follow candy cane lane and walk behind La Biche D’Or.
2. These thoughts are inconclusive….