loose-necked t-shirts on guys that shows me that most masculine, sexy place where their necks meet their shoulders; stopping for people in crosswalks; cleaning my children’s faces; catching a glimpse of what people are drawing; little boys in shorts and cowboy boots; yard art and statuary in other people’s yards; when Jack flirts back; drinking beer at lunch on a weekday; reading something crappy I’ve written and realizing it’s better than I thought; tattoos; wanting it so badly I can hardly stand it; clothes shopping with PHF since everything looks beautiful on him; cobalt blue glass; my eyes; Robert Browning; reading something that challenges me to become a better writer; getting second and third looks; the trappings of professions: laptops, slide-rules, hardhats, cell phones and baby-bags; groups of people who don’t match; window shopping when stores are closed; my bicep when it’s straining to lift a heavy weight; the rumble my jeep makes when it starts; when my daughter points out the way the light hits the mountains in the morning; the internet expanding my horizons in a way I never thought possible; the peace belying the crowds at Westminster Abbey; the untapped excitement of a crowded bar; live music; the soreness that only comes from intense physical activity; earning playtime through hard work; the feel of a horse under me; accents; impromptu social/political discussions; chatting on Greg’s blog; first-grader knock-knock jokes; The Execution of Lady Jane Grey; curly red hair; Green Day's American Idiot (still!); cute boys on Pearl Street Mall telling me my jeep is awesome; the woods in Rocky Mountain National Park...
can you tell I’m happy today?
Do you ever get that feeling when you just want to bite something? I'd like to sink my teeff into some PHF about now.
But he's on an aeroplane from Washington DeeCee right now. Won't be back till later.
aaaarrggh, knash knash.
[Editor's note: BTW - which this isn't, we at ss@s are told that we have a new reader in our midst. (Yeah, we mean you, J.) This one actually knows Sex in 3D. The rule: What happens at Starbucks stays at Starbucks.
Except, unless, that is, you're gonna bring in new readership who might flirt shamelessly in the commentbox.
Well, what are you waiting for? Go email this link!]
Also: I realize that the painting might seem kind of morbid. Here's what one of my characters, Aidan has to say about it:
[Kaelin had] gone to see the painting with Aidan before, but he just couldn’t find the appeal in a painting of a teenage girl about to be beheaded.
Aidan shook his head at his brother with disdain. “You just haven’t really looked at her. She’s so young, she’s seventeen, and nothing bad has ever happened to her before. The Tower Lieutenant seems kind, like he’s helping her, but what he’s really doing is leaning her over so the executioner can chop her head off. And the executioner wears red tights, you know, so the bloodstains won’t show.”
“It’s so big,” Alexia said. “And it’s frightening.”
Aidan smiled. “Think how it was for her.”
Alexia shivered visibly.
“But it’s also beautiful and tragic. She’s always haunted me. Her hands...” Aidan’s voice faded off. Kaelin knew Aidan was interested in art, he was in Art History at Cambridge, and Aidan talked about someday owning a gallery. But even Kaelin had never heard him speak of it like this.
“What about her hands?” Ryanne asked softly.
There was a pause while Aidan appeared to consider what he meant to say.
“Light all around her depicts her innocence,” he said slowly. His voice lost its animation and its intensity, he was staring past them as if he could see the painting. “She blindfolded herself and begged the executioner to leave it on until it’s done. Her face doesn’t have much expression, though she can’t find the block. You can tell by her hands that she’s unsure and frightened; but inquisitive too. They won’t grip the wood, they’ll rest there gently. Her hands are reaching out to touch the last thing they’ll ever feel.”*
*this writing is protected by law, so don't go copying it or nuthin.