Quiet day. Good day.<\/p>\n
Last night was much fun. A large contingent of the church group went to a nice restaurant<\/a> in downtown Greensboro, after which a portion of us walked down the street a bit to a wine bar called Cafe Europa. From there most of that group came back to my house, whose state could best be euphemized as “lived in,” and ended up watching my copy of Say Anything<\/i>. It was a bit of a marathon evening, but a fun one. The extended presence of good friends is rarely unwelcome.<\/p>\n The longing for Europe has been more acute lately, especially when I hear Susan and Julia plan a two-week trip to Italy in June. I dreamed about the lake country last night. I was showing a friend the way around Lakes Como<\/a> and Maggiore<\/a> and pointing out the highlights. I remembered the unkempt paradise that is Isola Madre, the uninhabited palace and its walls of overgrown ivy. These things haunt me. When I think about them you can hear my breathing.<\/p>\n * * * * * *<\/p>\n How often do we make unconscious allowances for second and third choices? How often do we resign ourselves to a situation in our lives and tell ourselves, “That’s what I wanted all along,” working ourselves into a frame of mind, rethinking our past desires to fit the actual scenario? It has something to do with the loss of idealism. But it’s also a necessary survival instinct. I think about some of my married friends (no one who reads this) and remember hearing one or the other relate stories of their courtship and early months and years of the marriage. Sometimes–and it could just be me–it seems they take great pains to explain how perfectly compatible they are in many respects, and how milestone events (proposal, marriage, honeymoon) had gone exactly how they had always dreamed they would. I’m certainly far from the most perceptive or emotionally intelligent person, but I’m almost invariably struck with the sense that there’s a great deal of thought behind some of the responses; they seem formulated as carefully as any legal document. And I know they believe it. I do it too; we all do. Our memories are written and rewritten over and again in our own minds. Every time we take another prolonged look at the fabric of our past different colors stand out, a different structure emerges from the weave.<\/p>\n