by Al Drinkle
“When I opened the bedroom windows and looked out onto the cool, calm garden in the first rays of sunlight, I was certain there was nothing to do but live.”
-Clarice Lispector
The snow falls deep into April, and days that would have been considered pretty in December are now unwelcome, if not oppressive. I stare out the window and think about how unsavory weather can be rendered irrelevant by exciting prospects. I suppose that in its own way, the authoritative instruction to assume that every fellow human that you see is almost certainly a vampire is mildly exciting.
There was a time many years ago that Richard and I froze our asses off in a parked car on the outskirts of Auxerre, the engine running and the vents feebly exhaling tepid air. We had a small wheel of tomme, a fresh baguette, an Opinel knife, and a responsibly diminutive drop of Chablis. We also had unbridled excitement for our afternoon appointment in Burgundy, and this remains one of the most enjoyable lunches of my life.
On another adventure, we were laughably underdressed in a Logroño blizzard, darting from one tapas bar to the next. The liquid Rioja and the anticipation of meeting with several fascinating winegrowers in the coming days couldn't keep us dry or warm, but it kept us upbeat.
I'm tangentially reminiscing, of course, now that travel is off, and so is friendship to a certain extent. It's increasingly difficult to abide the debased avenues of social engagement that we're restricted to, and I'm grateful that since we're an essential service (an understatement if there ever was one!), Richard and I still get to continue laughing together and pursuing this eminently fulfilling work.
My suspicion is that by the time that this entirely uninspired article has found its way to your inbox, the weather will probably have improved. I'm equally confident that neither the coronavirus pandemic, nor my creative writing paralysis, will have followed suit. But we encourage you to render the universal monotony less relevant by focussing on the remaining things that make you happy, however simple they might be.
For those of you to whom delicious wine is a welcome comfort or distraction from what is essentially the most boring science fiction film that has never been made, we remain emphatically appreciative. After all, what else is there to do except live?
