37

It is my birthday, and I have thus far received more pleasant gifts this year than in any year since childhood. I'm not sure why: good ale, seaweed, some early and late period Springsteen, a magnificent cake, a high-quality chef's knife, a well-crusted pizza, a t-stat -- I feel like some sort of king.

*

This was the second Christmas since my stepsister killed herself. Jess spoke to my stepmother about what had happened and she became choked up. "I just have to pretend she's on vacation," she said. "It's the only way I can deal with it."

*

"Somebody is booting in the bathroom," one of the contractors told us. Twenty minutes later, Eddy stumbled out. Billy asked him what was wrong. "Ah, just an upset stomach." He rubbed his nose, smoked a cigarette, and went back to work.

*

I spent a post work hour buying brillo pads and a mortar and pestle. I drank a smooth cup of coffee at Starbucks and read from Pnin. I thought of some further ideas for my novel and scribbled them on a scrap piece of paper. While driving to pick up pizza, I got more ideas and tried to write while driving. Not smart, I know. But I was alone on the sidestreets and drove slowly. I wonder if I can make sense of my writing. I've done this before and have lost ideas buried in an jolting, overlapping scrawl.

*

And now I'm waiting for Jess and Ian to show up with the cake.

I have another nickname. Jess calls me, sometimes, "PB" or "her PB." PB is short for polar bear. I don't mind the cold and sometimes leave the house forgotting to put on my coat. Sometimes she even calls me "a PB."

They made me a cake in the shape of a PB. The bear is smiling and shitting out brown jelly beans. I don't know what flavor the beans are because they have yet to arrive and I haven't tried it. And this is assuming the cats haven't somehow gotten into it. The cats grown by turns more noble and affectionate, and then more clever and devilish.

It is the finest cake I've ever seen. I suppose, in there, was a deep warmth, and sometime unlike what I've felt before, and this has something to do with a concrete shift from thinking about being "in a relationship" to thinking in terms of being in a family. I don't know why the bear made me feel this way, or what there was outside of this in the experience of the past month that would evoke such thoughts and come to be symbolized the cake. But it did.

*

While waiting, I went through a box still unpacked from the farm. A CD fell out -- a collection of Beethoven's choral works. To my memory, it is the only music I bought there, not counting the Glenn Campbell collection I bought specifically for the ride there.

The funny part is, I don't remember listening to it once. I remember listening to a lot of Devendra Banhart and Entombed while on the farm. Why those twin poles? And why no peace in the Ludwig Van?

It's my birthday and I'm bound to think about such accidental matters.