Good morning. This is Your Morning Briefing, February 11, 2012.
So, last night, I asked my Acropoliptic beauty what she was telling her bosses in the muse business back in Athens about her progress here in Bismarck with her latest assignment.
We were enjoying a glass of nice Cabernet, with a loaf of good, crusty, bread and some olive oil for dipping, and not getting involved in any serious discussions at all. But I was curious. I was recalling to her how much Joanie and I used to enjoy weekend evenings like this when the world seem to slow down, and we would just sit, sip and dip, and talk for hours about our dreams, hopes and things to come. Music was always playing, as it is now, and the night would just seem to melt away into the early morning when, finally, we would blow out the last candle burning.
Suzanne’s cheeks, reddened like Joanie’s would after just a sip or two from a glass of wine, and she looked at me and said, “Bobby, I have just told them I need a little more time. That you were a challenge, but you had promise, and I wouldn’t be satisfied if I left right now. You are not afraid, and you are getting closer every day. They seemed happy with that, so my silly boy, you’re not rid of me just yet.”
I told here it made me happy to hear her say that, for I am finding what she has brought into my 1972 Rollohome has given me a lot to be happy about, not to mention the thousands of words she is responsible for me writing these past weeks.
She said, “I’m not responsible for any of your words. You are just in the process we have talked about since I came here of trying to find your voice and come to terms with memories, both good and bad. To give wings to the thoughts and feelings of your heart is why I’m here. That is perhaps the hardest thing, but you are moving in that direction faster than I would have thought. I know you have more words to write, and stories to be told. I can also say that you are a good student when it comes to playing with words.”
I sat there, amazed. Loving this Friday night with nothing more than a bottle of wine, some bread and some olive oil and her looking across the table at me in the candlelight. Amazed that I’m carrying on a conversation with a muse from god knows where, that no one else can see, and one who is a kindred spirit of a kind of Bailey and Brandy, and really enjoying myself, and not wanting the night to end.
Tonight, as the “music without words,” as Suzanne called jazz, was playing in the background, I freshened her glass of wine, and as she lit one of her cigars and looked at me with that enigmatic smile, she asked if she might have another chunk of bread.
I could do nothing but smile myself, rip off another chunk of bread, and wonder at the magic of it all.
Take care, be well and keep in touch. Get a loaf yourself and try it.