Wednesday, December 06, 2006


A few years ago in a moment of guilt after forgetting our anniversary, David decided to invite me to be a member of his book club. I was honored; when and where did we meet, who else was in it, and what were we reading? He said that he was the only member, we met at home, and this month's book was The Corrections, by Jonathan Franzen (yes the one that Oprah picked for her book club, the one where the author didn't really like being picked by Oprah, and the one who then made some sort-of apologies, but not really. Read about the Oprah/Franzen deal here).

David was many chapters ahead of me, but I'm a fast reader and I caught up with him. We'd lie in bed at night each reading our copy of "the book." I'd periodically say, "What part are you on?" and he'd tell me and we'd talk about what was going on with the various families in the book.

We both quite enjoyed the book and we keep referring to this partwhere this older man is on a cruise talking to his friend. He says, "Sometimes I can't sleep at night because I'm so excited about the cup of coffee I'm going to have the next morning." David and I will be hanging out at night and one of us says, "Are you already thinking about the cup of coffee you're going to have tomorrow morning?" "Yes. I can't wait."

Strong and black. That's how I like my coffee. It's kind of pathetic when the best part of your day is the twenty minutes in the morning when you're drinking your delicious java--or even more pathetic when it's the time you spend anticipating the next day's fix.

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