I have been taking pleasure in my hands recently. I guess more specifically, the work that I put my hands to.

I look forward to the turning of the lock to the front door and the good feeling that key has as it slides in perfectly and turns the deadbolt.

I take pleasure in the drawing of the small sharp knife with the white plastic handle (not one of the "better" knives*)from the silverware drawer--the wooden drawer that slides out smoothly, but not too smoothly--in order to cut the cellophane packaging of some spinach that was fresh bought tonight; I am having a strawberry jam, spinach and Wasa cracker sandwich.

I watch and listen to the pooring of the oolong tea into my tiny Chinese teacup and the dribbling sound of the tea from the small spout of the small brown pot.

My hands. Their work is more deliberate, with purpose. I have never felt this before.

I did three loads of laundry on Monday--two of them were Emily's. It felt good as I folded her shirts and pants and underwear, knowing that when she selects her clothes for the next week she will be undoing my fold-job and placing them on her body.

I cooked dinner for Emily and Bridget on Wednesday night - Spicy Pesto Chicken Pasta with Roasted Garlic Mashed Potatoes and Whole Kernel Corn Out Of A Can. It was the first time I have ever roasted Garlic and I got the cloves a little on the dark side of browned. For the pesto chicken I substituted Cholulas hot sauce for the "chili paste" that the recipe called for (do you like the sound of "chili paste?") The roasted garlic mashed potatoes tasted of blackened garlic and were palatable yet not that good. The pesto chicken pasta may have been one of the best dishes I have ever made. It is definitely going into my repiratoire.

I have discovered why my dad always stayed up later than everyone else. This time is my time to do with as I please. Some of it is used to tap into my latent OCD and pick up the living room, the dining room and the kitchen. It feels good to make a place new and clean and ordered.

At least 3 times today, I put my face up to Emily's belly and said in a high pitched voice, "Hello baby, how are you doing in there?" That always gets laughs from whomever's watching, and of course it makes me look cute. I expect my conversations to get longer and more complex as my child gets older. We'll start on Socrates at 12 weeks and maybe move on to the pre-Socratics at 15.

I picked up a book today by Marcel Mauss - A General Theory of Magic. I read the prologue and the first chapter. It looks intriguing. I remember my friend, Virgil Brower, always talking about Mauss and Levi-Strauss.

I drove 45 minutes to sit through a 4-hour seminar today about baby cribs and highchairs. The products they were selling looked great. Too bad I don't have enough money and don't like layaway plans. At least Emily and I have a coupon to send in so we can get deluxe accomodations for 3 days and 2 nights in one of a list of cities, none of which I have any real desire to visit.

At any rate, life feels good. This is a heroic and liberating time. It is mundane and practical and good. The work of my hands is my art.


*better knives - knives with wooden handles that don't necessarily cut better but just feel better in the palm of your hand.



Update: I have found another recipe for some pesto chicken pasta that looks even better! It uses sundried tomatoes--something Emily and I have been loving lately. I make a damn good sundried tomato and spinach pizza. And yes, I make the dough myself thank you very much.

Update: If you were wondering, you spell that plasticy packaging stuff celophane, and you spell that garbage heap of famous knowledge your repertoire. I also helped blogger learn "oolong" and "sundried" tonight. What can I say, I'm a good vocabulary teacher.