Leftover Magic Dust in my Coffee

We return to be smothered by the exhaustion of normal life.

In one of the afternoons during this holiday break, I uncovered a secret. Maybe I’m exaggerating again, as it’s just a simple recipe. Now I’m going to sound like a cretin. I poured a strong blend of drip coffee over finely powdered chocolate milk along with a packet of a natural zero-calorie sweetener and the result was Cafe Mocha.

The simplicity made it magical. I want to say, it’s not like chasing my own tail as I know for certain that it’s magic. But maybe it was just the holidays – which are over now. Tomorrow, life reverts to normal. Once again, we’ve got less time to see family and friends. We’re done with being drunk fizzy with elation. We return to be smothered by the exhaustion of normal life.

This afternoon and this evening were the final exceptions. After a short morning run, house chores, a warm bath, and a delightful lunch prepared by D., we saw another wonderful-enough Woody Allen.

...Whatever love you can get and give, whatever happiness you can filch or provide, every temporary measure of grace, whatever works.


Following the film, I made coffee and put the magic dust to spend the afternoon reading these delicious, bite-size stories from Italo Calvino in Numbers in the Dark, along with a back issue of Harper’s. The reads were fantastic and I feel enriched. Imagine this quote from Calvino, for example:

...I still live in a castle of meanings, not things.

In a Celebration of H.’s, in one of those hardcore drunken conversations when you spoke of what agitated your life, I told my good friend M., “I realized I don’t want to get rich.” Maybe that’s what I meant, I didn’t want to amass things. I yearned for meaning. I know now, I wouldn't be rich, but be like living like a king in a castle.

When evening came today, we heard mass and had a filling dinner at a tea house near the church. Ceremoniously, they stirred chilli in the soy sauce. Life felt like a Murakami novel. We retreat home for her to rest, and me to write.

We wish more of the magic dust. And all we have to do is think of next Christmas, when we’re going to be a family of our own. J, D, and the little one.