The Ring
Since last time I wrote, I've acquired a ring. As a symbol of my engagement, it's very satisfying, but as a concrete object in my life, it is miraculous. I never desired a ring, or thought much about having one. Now that I do, I find that the shininess, the sparkliness, the circularity, the very weight of it on my finger, all have a transformative effect on my vision of myself. The ring reminds me to enjoy the present moment. The ring reminds me to appreciate what is happening right now. The ring reminds me to see myself, and my beloved, as astonishing, surprising, and beautiful.

How I Got The Ring
Keith and I went for a walk, as we often do on a hospitable Saturday morning. We walked on a familiar circuit, down to Coolidge Corner via the back route, dodging hedges and recycling bins. We stopped at Peet's for coffee, the library to return books, Trader Joe's to buy Buffalo Chicken Meatballs. We discussed the usual range of topics - my (multiple, unsuccessful) attempts to call my mom on her birthday the day before, Keith's breakthroughs and setbacks in his paper on the Modified Prequential Bayes Approach to Gaussian Mixture Order Estimation, an article I'd read on the controversy surrounding psychology and pharmaceuticals, whether or not to see Greenberg in the theater, our favorite parts of the latest 30 Rock episode, and a long, mutual rant on the misguided walking habits of local pedestrians. The conversation carried us through Coolidge Corner, up Beacon to 7-11, through the purchase of a Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr Pepper Big Gulp, into the checkout line at Star Market, and all the way up to the reservoir. The walk was supposed to veer back to my apartment after Star Market, as I had purchased milk, but we continued up to the reservoir on Keith's suggestion. As we approached, I stopped at a park information billboard to see if there were any restrooms close by. I noticed an announcement for a nature walk that sounded interesting, and Keith and I tried to figure out where it would take place. We chatted on, up the dirt path to the reservoir, rounding the bend onto the main graveled path. We walked about fifty yards until we came to the first green bench. We sat down and I continued my campaign to get Keith to the movie theater. He stood up and stretched, blocking the sun and saying "today might be your lucky day". I looked up at him and smirked. He then dropped down on one knee and began speaking. I didn't hear anything of what he was saying as I laughed out of shock and fear and asked him what he was doing. He took a box out of his pocket and opened it to show me a diamond ring. I was afraid to speak, not knowing which words might fly out of my mouth. He and I got the ring onto the correct finger and I laughed more and felt like my lips and cheeks would stretch off of my face from smiling. I said yes and we hugged and kissed and sat together on the bench in the sun, as the light reflected off of the ring onto our grinning faces.

It's been over a year since I last wrote. I miss my voice. I liked the idea of myself as a blogger, but the reality of it was disappointing. I can never quite figure out why I stop doing things, or don't continue things I once enjoyed. When they excavate my brain in 2 million years, there will be an interesting geologic story to be told. My changes and reasons seem to subscribe to a vast scale of time. I think about how much I enjoy reading my friends' blogs and peeking into the psyches of strangers through their blogs and I wish I could be part of the inter-blast. I am, at heart or by training, a lurker. I would like to train to be a contributor.

I am listening to a fantastic album - Country Club by John Doe and the Sadies. It makes me want to write, to use my voice to share feeling and cause feeling. Ooh, shivers, that album just led seamlessly into Folsom Prison Blues. Sometimes iTunes is a little creepy in its perfection. Country Club is about John Doe's love and appreciation of country songwriting and music, so hearing Johnny Cash right after him feels like the best illustration.

I have been trying to think about how to contribute. Am I incubating, preparing, germinating? Or is this cowardice, something that needs to be weaned, served, nipped in the bud? I try to have respect for my pace. I alternate between faith and impatience. Can those go together or do they require alternation? I think I can hold both at once - faith in my imaginative life, mixed with impatience at the pace of its manifestation.

Just listened to the wonderful part of Busted when Johnny laughs. "No laughing during the song. Don't you know this is being recorded?"