"It's a Poor Sort of Memory That Only Works Backward."

Gratitude Journal: Looking forward to January

1. Lariat of rhinestones (Haskell) that graces my art deco statue in the living room and will soon rope my neck. A thrift shop find, $3.

2. Black velvet dress that fits me not quite so tightly as a glove, but within horseshoe distance of clingy. A thrift shop find, brand new, at $7.

3. My trusty Manolos, which look as good now as they did 7 years ago. I have no idea what they cost but am sure that it was under three digits.

4. Diamond earrings. Sparkly as #1, and genuine. A gift from Harvey.

5. Day at the spa to proceed the donning of numbers 1 through 4. I can already imagine my muscles al dente, my face unworried, and my toenails pomegranate. A win from a local radio station. Cost: 12 years of piano lessons and 30 years of transcription, which together equal the fastest fingers on the phone dial.

(Looking forward to looking backward: Priceless.

For those of you who think that I'm crazy to plan to look this good without a date: If I would contrive to be glamorous for Harvey--and we did, once a year, look as elegant as possible--I should be willing to still look this good for him, because somewhere, somehow, he sees me.

Also, I have a date: January 10, 1987. Twenty five years ago, our first date. The one I don't remember accepting. The one where I kissed H. good night, and he wrecked his car on the way home. The one where I began to get a glimmer of what Harvey already knew: This is the one. Or, as the gulls echo in Finding Nemo: Mine, mine, mine).

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