Instant Cheer-Ups

Our older brother--a jambalaya-, football-, and philosophy-loving man of 6'4" who grows his own tomatoes and Habanero peppers--has a list of five things to do to improve his mood. It reads like a modified version of Maslow's hierarchy of needs:

Eat Something
Drink Something
Take a Nap
Take a Shower
Exercise

It's a simple list--much more practical than mine: get in bed; watch the opening montage of the Devil Wears Prada; leave town, etc.

Last night when I hopped from the train to the platform in my threadbare satin shoes at 11:45 p.m., bed loomed like a concession, though, not a luxury. Sometimes commuting feels nice--sexy, even--in the way it bookends a day with crowded solitude. But last night it was awful. And I'd left the Kathryn Chetkovich essay I'd intended to read on the train--a 21 page printout about the envy she feels for her boyfriend, Jonathan Franzen--in the tray of a communal printer at work.

At the risk of sounding like a complete misery-guts, I washed my hair at home and wondered, can this day be saved?



I ate a honey crisp apple. I padded into the living room. Then I grabbed the candlesticks I bought for last week's dinner party (I made beef bourguignon. It was almost as good as beef stroganoff.) and set them onto a mirrored side table. These weren't mere votives or wacky, tacky and cloying Yankee candle affairs. They were beautiful, drippy sticks and their light bent into rainbows on the glass. This must be what it feels like to light a devotional in church, I marveled.

In any case, I perked right up--partly because I so enjoyed taking this picture. My brother would totally gag, but for me--and perhaps, for you--a moment of good lighting, a pair of pajamas, and (who am I kidding) a cup of wine can indeed save the day. (Especially if you know that when you wake up tomorrow, you won't be drinking your coffee in the shadow of a man. )