How often do you have a perfect day? Never, that’s when.
So, I was completely shocked to have a perfect day on Wednesday. It went like this, although the sequence has been jumbled.
In the early evening, I met my old friend Mary Jo for drinks at the Algonquin. Mary Jo knew me when I was young, she knew me before I had kids, she was the first visitor at the hospital after our daughter was born. We talked and drank astronomically priced drinks (you have to pay through the wazoo for that kind of high-tone literary atmosphere, I found out; how, on earth did the hard drinkers at the Round Table afford it?).
Then we set off through the midtown throngs to get to a theater to see Love, Loss and What I Wore. I’d loved the book of the same name by Ilene Beckerman and greatly admire the show’s authors Nora and Delia Ephron. Tyne Daly, Rosie O’Donnell and Samantha Bee were in the rotating cast of actresses who performed that night for an audience of mostly women of a certain age, so, naturally, I felt right at home. It was funny, it was poignant and it was divine. I just wished my daughter could have been there, too, since it’s a perfect mother-daughter event.
Then, to end the perfect day, I went back to our apartment, where my husband had roses and champagne waiting. This, believe me, doesn’t happen on a regular basis.
But it happened Wednesday night because my agent had called in the late afternoon to tell me she’d received an offer on my novel. An offer on my novel from a wonderful, enthusiastic editor who loves the book. What can I say? I was delirious.
Another day, I’ll take it apart. I’ll start to worry about everything, since that’s what happens when a book’s going to be published. You get your wishes fulfilled one day, then wake up to a host of new problems and complaints the next. I know. I’ve been through it before.
But not on Wednesday, the perfect day, when I wore a beige shell with a taupe sweater and black knit pants and a scarf. I felt loved and happy and I celebrated. The losses and hangover could come on another day. On a perfect day, you don’t have time for them.
(Copyright 2009 by Ruth Pennebaker)
Read one of my favorite earlier posts: What? Now they give you a present just to give birth?