A perfect evening (From the Book of Questions...)


This question came up at my last party, and my answer was too brief to capture what I dream of, so here's the expanded version (warning, don't expect anything grand, I'm a bit of an Epicurean at heart):

We are in our home. The home is modest, but well designed, near the university where we both lecture. Its primary attribute is the ability to host large, informal dinner parties, and tonight we are having one of those, though not a huge one. Our friends, mostly intellectuals and artists, are chatting in the living room and kitchen, some of our students are here, and some of their friends, there are enough new people to spark discussions and enough people who know each other to make the room comfortable. There are interesting conversations on a variety of topics, witty reparté, and a few risque jests here and there. There is, above all, laughter and happiness.

As the evening progresses, guests drift out, and the children (or maybe just one child) drift to sleep, maybe in your arms, maybe in mine. At some point we rouse them and march them off to bed. A small core of students and other professors remains, and we talk quietly about the nature of design, life, the universe and everything.

Sometime in the wee morning the last of the guests leaves. You are dancing about the living room, your eyes flashing with ideas and possibilities for some new paper you've conceived. I spin you a few times and we do an impromptu tango into the kitchen where your words spill out as you explain the paper you want to write while I clear the perishables from the counters and make some hot chocolate.

You perch on the arm of the couch where I sit back in the living room and continue to explain your ideas. Eventually you run down, and I try to give back to you what I've seen in your explanation, hopefully helping with organising, systematising and connecting it to the broader picture we share of the world and its workings. You slide off the couch arm and drape yourself over me, making some gentle joke or other.

After a half hour or so of sitting and cuddling, we finish our hot chocolate and I scoot you off to bed with an affectionate pat on your behind. You take two steps then turn and make some mocking challenge, so I chase you up the stairs laughing, and we fall into bed in a tangled heap.

Comments

  1. x

    x on 01/03/2005 12:46 p.m. #


    After much reflection (really!) I've been unable to improve upon my lame and ever-so-boring answer: just lying on a couch reading a book. Perhaps i could have added some excitement by specifying a book. But that would be too circumstantial.<br />
    <br />
    Simon had helpfully added Selena to my picture, on the couch, legs somehow entwined. And hence two other reflections. <br />
    <br />
    One is that I realised that Selena "in the picture" in some way (no specific configuration leaps to mind---perhaps not even physically) is simply a given. No need (for me) to specify. This is a luxury that perhaps I take for granted, being married. <br />
    <br />
    The other is how somehow strange it seemed to listen to everyone telling how much they would sacrifice, or how far they would go, for "True Love"... so earnest, so eagre, so sincere, so desirous, so idealistic... and, for the most part, so similar in envisioning... how is it so hard to achieve with such like minds and motivations?<br />

  2. chad

    chad on 01/04/2005 9:23 a.m. #


    I suppose, x, that would have to do with man's inherant imperfections. Even if the object of our effections was perfect, we still deal with our own inner imperfections and inability to truly love.<br />
    <br />
    The huge gap between purely idealistic/emotioinal love and true love in the real world. True love requires continual-self-sacrificially-giving in a world looking out for number one (usually mistakenly defined as self.)<br />
    <br />
    Even with access to an infinite source we fall so short.<br />
    <br />

  3. chad

    chad on 01/04/2005 9:23 a.m. #


    I suppose, x, that would have to do with man's inherant imperfections. Even if the object of our affections was perfect, we still deal with our own inner imperfections and inability to truly love.<br />
    <br />
    The huge gap between purely idealistic/emotioinal love and true love in the real world. True love requires continual-self-sacrificially-giving in a world looking out for number one (usually mistakenly defined as self.)<br />
    <br />
    Even with access to an infinite source we fall so short.<br />
    <br />

  4. x

    x on 01/04/2005 10:35 p.m. #


    How dare you inject reality into this discussion, dear chad! Don't you recognize the work of Master Harlequin? <br />
    <br />
    Alas, however, I fear the likes of us can not measure up to the exalted gentle-but-sharp professors, nor even the witty graduate students (nay, not even the academically doomed, yet still marginally amusing ones) in this shimmering---albeit slightly pornographic---vision.<br />
    <br />
    But just because we are too feable mentally, and (some of us) far too lugubrious in tone, and we (or at least I) severely falter in most things approaching reparte... to survive long in such rarified atmosphere. Let us as much as we can (even if it is not much) try to pretend... is it not the least we can do?<br />
    <br />
    Yes, it is hopeless for us to pull it off. Perhaps we shouldn't try. Poor, poor, Mike. Rather than "modest" intellectual parties, this blog. Instead intelligent interlocution, these retarded and barely comprehensible (and essentially anonymous) replies from virtual strangers... <br />
    <br />
    I feel myself the imposter. An imposter of an imposter, even. But at the same time, I can't help but wonder (and, forgive me, even hope) if Mike isn't a bit of an imposter deep down as well... and I mean that in the most complimentary of ways. <br />
    <br />
    Wheh, luckily no one knows what i'm talking about, and even fewer will read this. Wheh, wheh, wheh... <br />
    <br />
    I make my escape, only hoping I have not faux pas'd myself this time beyond reprieve. <br />

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