A Lovefest of a Day

It wasn't my birthday. No fireworks. Nobody came to my door with a million-dollar check. No one handed me the keys to a Ferrari. But I would have to say that yesterday was one of those perfect days.

Up before dawn, I took both dogs for a walk to the marina as the sky was turning rosy, and for a change they both kept pace with me. Sofia usually balks, while Chica pulls ahead, making for an awkward pace, but this time we moved like a team, and I felt like the Dog Whisperer. Now, where are my skates?

I had signed up for a writer's workshop yesterday, and after a couple hours with three other women in various stages of giving birth to their own books, it was clear to me that while writing is a solitary process, I tend to work best when I can compare notes now and then. I'm a strange contradiction, a shy people person. By lunchtime, we all felt as though we had known each other for years and were making plans to continue working together after the workshop ends.

At lunchtime I went home to sit in the sun and scarf quesadillas made of soy chorizo, cheese and onions, and tossed the ball for Chica. Then G. came by with his little sidekick Alberto, who was happy to take over the ball-tossing.

In the afternoon, the workshop created "mind maps," a process familiar to anyone who's read Drawing From the Right Side of the Brain. I kept coming up with more little balloons to add and drawing more lines connecting the balloons until my map became quite a maze.

The vest

By four I was home, my brain a little weary from all the unaccustomed exercise, so I curled up for a naplet with the dogs. Corresponded with a few friends online and then, as the stars came out, I pulled on some velvet jeans and an embroidered vest and strolled down to Evie's where Omar the pianist had invited me to sing. There wasn't much of an audience and no microphone but the room is small and the acoustics are pretty good, so it went well. Then Martin the owner brought out his accordion and the three of us did "Piel Canela" together! I'd never heard Martin sing before and I was pleasantly surprised.

I stopped in at the Captain's Club on the way home to see if Francisco was playing. We had a couple of new songs we wanted to practice, and since the audience there was also sparse it looked like a good time. So we broke out Donovan's "Mellow Yellow" and Procol Harum's "Whiter Shade of Pale." For one of the waitresses we tried to translate the title "Whiter Shade" into Spanish. Un mas blanco sombrear de pálido? Hmmm, not as catchy as the English.

We were both about to leave when my favorite wandering minstrels Enrico and Angel, sauntered in wearing snowy white dinner jackets, their shoes gleaming, hair slicked back. "Muy guapo!" I gushed. And we taught them "Gracias a La Vida!" with me singing the verses and all of us chiming in on the chorus. ¡Qué divertismo!

I didn't spend or earn a peso all day. The workshop was a trade for editing work. Martin wouldn't let me pay for the glass of red wine I had at Evie's and Malena insisted on treating me to a limonada at the CC. Home in bed, I dozed off with fantasies of morphing into an itinerant cantante.

Synchronicity, serendipity, happy coincidence. A charmed day. I can't expect them all to be like that, but I can recognize and celebrate them when they occur. And try to remember them on those other days.