Contentment

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

Page 180 of 189 · 20 per page

• From The Surrender: An Erotic Memoir (2004)

  In the beginning, I bought the tiny little travel tubes, good for one or two sessions, small, discreet, deniable. Once I knew, initially, the ecstasy of the act, I also knew it could only be a very rare occurrence, sort of like a birthday special. I reasoned that it would not be healthy for my little asshole to be so invaded too frequently. I reasoned that bliss was not free, not plannable, and definitely not something that might come my way very often. Such reasoning led me to buy those little travel tubes. But those tiny tubes kept running out and denial became an effort. Ass-fucking was part of the regular repertoire. The next time he opened the drawer, he pulled out a giant, phallic-sized white-and-blue tube, looked at it, and fell off the bed howling with laughter. It was a risky move for me. Presumptuous. Practical. After several months of using one large tube after another, I put two large tubes in the drawer at the same time. That is how he developed the ritual of dispersing the tubes while I sucked his cock. The beautiful man with a fierce erection tossing large white-and-blue plastic tubes around the room (wherever we land he can fuck my ass, right there, right then, no reaching): it is an image of promise as close to a guarantee as I’ve ever known with a man. The gold band on my left ring finger guaranteed far less. Soon there are as many as five tubes in the drawer at one time, each in a different stage of emptiness, the emptier the better. I still haven’t figured out how many ass-fucks per four-ounce tube. Probably about eleven. At $4.19 a tube, that is about 38 cents a fuck . . . add that to the price of a condom (thirty-six for $14.99) at 42 cents, and the best thing in the world costs less than a buck. Then I found the tubes discounted at Costco, two for $4.00, and bought six. That brings the whole affair down to 60 cents per cum shot. (Ass-fuckers: use dark glasses for K-Y shopping and don’t turn around in the checkout line: they’re all staring at your butt in disbelief.) I’m going to buy stock in K-Y. The Lexus of lubricants. Grateful for the smooth ride. I heard a television talk-show shrink quizzing a cross-dressing man to test if he was gay or straight. Playing quick word association, she says “football,” he says “beer”; she says . . . he says . . . she says “KY,” he says “Kentucky.” She announces triumphantly that he is heterosexual. And, I would add, clearly not a heterosexual sodomite. Of the liquid lubricants, Astroglide is king. But be forewarned: if you pour Astroglide onto K-Y during a single vigorous ass-fucking, then expect a large amount of froth. Froth everywhere.

• From Love 2.0: Finding Happiness and Health in Moments of Connection (2013)

  The truth is that there’s no such ladder. When it comes to the things that matter most, others are neither beneath you nor above you. Time and again, studies show that the happiest among us are the ones who’ve simply shed this pernicious habit of social comparison. When you learn to see others through the lens of sameness, instead of through the lenses of downward and upward comparisons, you come to recognize that others’ difficulties are also your own difficulties, either at present, or at some past or plausible future moment. You also recognize that their good fortune doesn’t subtract from your own, and it does you no harm whatsoever to celebrate it. Indeed, you multiply your own riches when you do so. Love’s boundaries, as we’ve seen, need not be constricted, its vision need not be myopic. Love is both open and caring. While love like this obeys the bedrock preconditions of safety and connection, and is in part defined by some form of shared positivity, it does not hinge at all on you and another sharing precisely the same positive emotional state. Given the many factors that shape each person’s emotions, an exact matching of inner experience would be exceedingly rare and can hardly be expected. Fortunately, love doesn’t require the absence of unpleasantness or misfortune. Nor does it require the presence of any certain form of pleasantness or good fortune. Awareness of these fundamental truths opens the entire spectrum of human experience as opportune moments to cultivate positivity resonance. Whether in sickness or in health, good fate or bad, love remains possible. In this chapter, I share techniques for accessing two forms of love that may perhaps be less intuitive to you: loving through and despite another’s suffering, and loving through and despite another’s good fortune. Compassion: Meeting Suffering with Love By nature’s design, we all recoil from pain. Suppose you’re cooking dinner with brand-new cookware and mistakenly pick up that fancy, all-metal, oven-ready pot lid, forgetting to use a pot holder. It’s only natural that you drop the lid in a clamor as you yank your hand away. The haste of your recoil probably spares several layers of skin. And so it may seem with suffering of all sorts. Your first instinct may often be to look, leap, or pull away, or otherwise hang back. Increasing your distance from the source of pain can seem like the best way to spare yourself the added suffering that may come from being too close to it.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  —Lamento eso —dice tomando de nuevo su hamburguesa—. No sucederá mucho. Cole es muy bueno evitando los lugares donde estoy. Asiento, sin saber qué más decir. De todos modos, tengo la sensación de que no estaré aquí mucho tiempo. Ya siento que estoy caminando por la cuerda floja. Me obligo a comer, porque esto no sabrá bien como sobras mañana. La música se escucha desde afuera, el zumbido de una podadora cobra vida en la distancia, y el aroma del césped golpea el fondo de mi garganta cuando entra por las ventanas abiertas, las sencillas cortinas beige de la casa de Pike se mueven con la brisa que entra. Escalofríos cubren mis brazos. Verano. Un teléfono suena, y veo a Pike estirarse y tomar su teléfono de la isla. —Hola —responde. Suena la voz de un hombre del otro lado, pero no puedo escuchar lo que dice. Pike se levanta, cargando su plato hacia el fregadero con una mano y sosteniendo el teléfono con la otra, y echo una ojeada mientras está distraído. Las bromas de Cam sobre él siguen viniendo a mí, calentándome las mejillas, pero no es así. Pike es un misterio. Vi fotografías de él y Cole en la sala de estar, de bebé y de niño, pero aparte de eso, la casa no tiene mucho de su padre. Sé que es un tipo soltero, pero no hay libros sobre la mesa de centro que muestren sus intereses, no hay recuerdos de vacaciones, ni mascotas, ni arte, ni adornos, ni revistas, ninguna parafernalia que indique sus pasatiempos como deportes, juegos, o música… es una casa hermosa, pero es como una casa de exhibición donde en realidad no vive una familia. —No, necesito otra excavadora y al menos cien bolsas más de cemento —le dice al tipo, sosteniendo el teléfono entre su hombro y oreja, y subiendo más sus mangas abre el grifo. Sonrío para mí misma. Está lavando los platos. ¿Sin que se le pida? Suelto un suspiro y me levanto del asiento. Supongo que normalmente vive solo, después de todo. ¿Quién más lo haría? Se ríe ante algo que le dice el tipo y sacude la cabeza, mientras limpio mi plato en la basura. —Dile a ese imbécil que no está enfermo —exige al teléfono—, y que si no sale de donde sea que esté metido en la mañana, iré y lo buscaré yo mismo. Quiero seguir adelantado a la programación. Voy a su lado y suavemente dejo mi plato en el mostrador antes de poner la limonada y condimentos de regreso en el refrigerador. —Sí, sí… —lo escucho mientras enjuaga los platos, y los pone en el lavaplatos—, bien, te veré por la mañana. Cuelga y deja el teléfono, y le lanzo otra rápida mirada. —¿Trabajo? —pregunto. Asiente, echando algo en un vaso y tirándolo.

• From Best Erotica & Sexual Deviance Narratives Ever Written (2024)

  Another peculiarity of taste he had, which was to present me with a dozen pairs of the whitest kid gloves at a time: these he would divert himself with drawing on me, and then biting off their finger ends; all which fooleries of a silly appetite, the old gentleman paid more liberally for, than most others did for more essential favours. This lasted till a violent cough, seizing and laying him up, delivered me from this most innocent and insipid trifler, for I never heard more of him after his first retreat. You may be sure a by-job of this sort interfered with no other pursuit, or plan of life; which I led, in truth, with a modesty and reserve that was less the work of virtue than of exhausted novelty, a glut of pleasure, and easy circumstances, that made me indifferent to any engagements in which pleasure and profit were not eminently united; and such I could, with the less impatience, wait for at the hands of time and fortune, as I was satisfied I could never mend my pennyworths, having evidently been served at the top of the market, and even been pampered with dainties: besides that, in the sacrifice of a few momentary impulses, I found a secret satisfaction in respecting myself, as well as preserving the life and freshness of my complexion. Louisa and Emily did not carry indeed their reserve so high as I did; but still they were far from cheap or abandoned, though two of their adventures seemed to contradict this general character, which, for their singularity, I shall give you in course, beginning first with Emily’s: Louisa and she went one night to a ball, the first in the habit of a shepherdess, Emily in that of a shepherd: I saw them in their dresses before they went, and nothing in nature could represent a prettier boy than this last did, being so fair and well limbed.

• From Love 2.0: Finding Happiness and Health in Moments of Connection (2013)

  Self-love, by contrast, is steadier, more peaceful. This inherent calm arises because it’s not predicated on good outcomes. You can learn to be a friend to yourself through thick and thin, through good times and bad. Indeed, it’s in the toughest times that harboring compassion toward yourself makes the biggest difference. Practice standing by your own side during hard times, with openness and goodwill, and you’ll appreciate the steady security self-love offers you. It safeguards you from plunging into despair. Self-love buys you even more. It’s the currency in which all other forms of positivity resonance trade. When your reserves of self-love are low, you can scarcely meet the gaze of others, seeing yourself as either beneath or above them. A chasm forms between you and others that slashes your odds of forging true connections. Yet when you practice and bank self-love, you become rich with emotional reserves. You’re more able to recognize sources of goodness in others, to see and fulfill others’ yearnings to connect, no matter their circumstances. The next chapter describes how to do just that. CHAPTER 7 Loving Others, in Sickness and in Health WHAT IS RICH? ARE YOU RICH ENOUGH TO HELP ANYBODY? —Ralph Waldo Emerson Love, in its old-school version, seems to love similarity. Study upon study bears this out. People are most drawn to others who share roughly their same level of physical attractiveness, their same degree of financial wealth, their same physical abilities, their same lot in life. Each person, then, tends to have a small, circumscribed set of “loved ones” whose beauty, wealth, health, and ability are not too different from their own. Your attraction to similar others seems to keep the playing field level. Yet attraction like this also stratifies. Seeking similarity in your companions invites endless social comparisons as you continually size people up, judging whether they’re worse off or better off than you. When you judge others as having it worse than you, you may even feel relief at your own relative good fortune. Or maybe you feel some form of aversion: pity for their plight, fear that their unfortunate lot in life may one day be your own, or unspoken anger at them for bringing their misfortune on themselves. Regardless of which emotions emerge as you look down on others, the distinctions you’ve already made between you and them—and the judgments that go with it—create a gulf between you, a gulf that erodes your potential for authentic love. A similar gulf forms when you judge others as better off than you. When you see others as having more than you—more beauty, more wealth, more happiness—you come to see yourself as relatively disadvantaged. This can stoke fires of envy, or of self-pity. In looking up to others in this comparative way you stratify your social world into haves and have-nots.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  There were eight places set - two of them vacant and waiting, clearly, for Kitty and me, but the rest all taken. Mrs Dendy herself was seated at the head of the table; she was in the process of dishing out slices from a plate of cold meats, but half rose when she saw us, to bid us make ourselves at home, and to gesture, with her fork, to the other diners - first to an elderly gentleman in a velvet waistcoat who sat opposite to her. ‘Professor Emery,’ she said, without a hint of self-consciousness. ‘Mentalist Extraordinary.’ The Professor rose then, too, to make us a little bow. ‘Mentalist Extraordinary, ah, as was,’ he said with a glance at our landlady. ‘Mrs Dendy is too kind. It has been many years since I last stood before a hushed and gaping crowd, guessing at the contents of a lady’s purse.’ He smiled, then sat rather heavily. Kitty said that she was very pleased to know him. Mrs Dendy pointed next to a thin, red-headed boy on the Professor’s right. ‘Sims Willis,’ she said. ‘Corner Man — ’ ‘Comer Man Extraordinary, of course,’ he said quickly, leaning to shake our hands. ‘As is. And this’ - nodding to another boy across the table from himself - ‘this is Percy, my brother, who plays the Bones. He’s also extraordinary.’ As he spoke Percy gave a wink and, as if to prove his brother’s words, caught up a pair of spoons from the side of his plate, and set them rattling upon the tablecloth in a wonderful tattoo. Mrs Dendy cleared her throat above the noise, then gestured to the pretty, pink-lipped girl who had the seat next to Sims. ‘And not forgetting Miss Flyte, our ballerina.’ The girl gave a simper. ‘You must call me Lydia,’ she said, extending a hand, ‘which is what I am known as at - do cheese it, Percy! - what I am known as at the Pav. Or Monica, if you prefer, which is my real name.’ ‘Or Tootsie,’ added Sims, ‘which is what her pals all call her - and if you’ve read Ally Sloper’s I’ll leave you to work out why. Only let me say, Miss Butler, that she was in half a panic when Walter told us he was moving you in, lest you turn out to be some flashy show-girl with a ten-inch waist. When she learned you were a male impersonator, why, she turned quite gentle with relief.’ Tootsie gave him a push. ‘Pay no mind to him,’ she said to us, ‘he is always teasing.

• From Love 2.0: Finding Happiness and Health in Moments of Connection (2013)

  A patient with lesions in his right parietal cortex, for instance, is literally unaware of images and words presented within his left visual field. Using both controlled behavioral tasks as well as brain imaging, researchers discovered that when such patients listen to pleasant music, they overcome their loss of awareness. That is, they are temporarily able to see and act on information that simply doesn’t register for them while not listening to music, or when listening to music they don’t like. One point I wish to make here is that your experiences of love and other positive emotions need not bowl you over to bust open your perceptual gates. Studies like these show that far less intense positive emotional experiences—like taking in inspiring images or listening to upbeat music—open those same doors. What Huxley described as temporary and spontaneous bypasses that circumvent the reducing valve turn out to be the orderly perceptual byproducts of commonplace positive emotions. Indeed, with the emotional know-how I offer you in part II, you’ll be able to infuse any day or activity with expanded modes of consciousness. As positive emotions open your doors of perception, you become better equipped to connect with others. Your mind’s typical modus operandi, after all, is to be rather self-centered. Your thoughts tend to revolve around what you yourself need and want, and your own concerns. Self-absorption can become ever more extreme when you feel threatened in some manner. By contrast, my collaborators and I have conducted experiments that show how when you feel good, you see beyond your cocoon of self-interest to become more aware of others, more likely to focus on their needs, wants, and concerns, and to see things from their perspective. Once you actually forge a connection with someone else to create a shared moment of positivity resonance, the doors of perception widen further, in unique ways. First and foremost, you come to view one another as part of a unified whole—a single “us” rather than two separate “me’s.” And compared to other positive emotions, love stretches your circle of concern to include others to a greater degree. Love carries its characteristic care and concern for others, a warmth and genuine interest that inspire you to extend your trust and compassion to them.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Se detiene y gira la cabeza para mirarme. —Por supuesto. Es la mejor pizza del pueblo, así que es obvio. Salgo del dormitorio y cierro la puerta. —¿Pedimos por mitades? De ninguna manera iba a pagar la mitad de la pizza, por Dios santo. La invité, ¿no es así? Y la razón por la que se quedaran aquí era para ahorrar dinero, ¿cierto? Paso a su lado, ignorando el dinero en su mano mientras llevo la pizza a la isla de la cocina. Suspira, dejando salir un pequeño gruñido. Me rio. —Mira, yo pedí la pizza, ¿está bien? Simplemente asegúrate que no tenga nada de tu lechuga blandita en mi mitad. —Ja, ja. —Camina hacia el refrigerador y toma dos sodas. Soy un hombre simple de pepperoni y puedo soportar una pizza de tacos, pero no esa lechuga cálida y destrozada que viene con ella. Puede quedársela por completo. Repartimos los trozos en dos platos, pero antes de irnos a la sala de estar, pone una pila de vegetales en mi plato con unas pinzas. —Uh, gracias. —Si comes primero los vegetales —indica—, tendrás menos sitio para la pizza. Un pequeño truco que saqué de Pinterest. ¿Pinter… qué? —Entonces comerás menos pizza —continúa—, consumirás menos calorías y te sentirás mejor después de la comida. Sí, claro. Si me preocupara por consumir menos calorías, supongo. Bien. A la mierda. Lo que sea. Me dirijo al refrigerador y tomo la salsa ranchera que hay en la puerta. —No —exclama, deteniéndome—. Ya tiene salsa. Una vinagreta de frambuesa. Me enderezo y la miro fijamente. Simplemente sonríe y se aleja. Tomo dos tenedores, le paso uno y llevo mi plato y mi soda a la sala de estar, con ella detrás de mí. Una vez sentado, tomo el tenedor y dejo salir un suspiro antes de hundirlo en la ensalada. Recuerdo lo que mi madre decía sobre los vegetales mientras crecía. Sabían mejor si los comías cuando tenías hambre. Acabaré con eso de una vez y los comeré primero como Jordan sugirió. Meto un bocado en mi boca y el sabor amargo de las hojas disminuye solo un poco por el aderezo dulce. —Bueno, ¿verdad? —comenta. —No. —Niego—. Me estás matando. Se ríe. —Bueno, gracias por probarlo. Puedes dejar de comerlo si quieres. Pero, de todos modos, persevero. No es como si no pudiera con una dosis de vegetales, ¿cierto? Y no es como si odiara los vegetales. Me gustan las mazorcas de maíz y me gustan… las patatas y eso. Técnicamente son vegetales, ¿verdad? —Así que, ¿qué estás viendo? —pregunta. Miro hacia la televisión y me doy cuenta que el volumen está muy bajo. Alcanzo el control remoto y lo subo. — El club de lucha —contesto. —Oh, mira, nací el año en que se creó. Arqueo una ceja, pero mantengo la boca cerrada. Pero hago las cuentas en mi cabeza, recordando que vi esto en mi último año de secundaria. Así que, sí, sería alrededor de esa época.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  —No —responde, y puedo escuchar el humor en su voz—. Quédense afuera y diviértanse. Hagan sus cosas. Yo solo… —Hace una pausa por un momento y luego continúa—: Sabes, no te preocupas por cosas que desconoces. Cuando Cole no vivía conmigo, no siempre sabía dónde estaba o qué estaba tramando, así que no pensaba al respecto todo el tiempo. Ahora, ustedes dos viviendo bajo mi techo, parece que me preocupo constantemente. —Suelta una carcajada—. Ese bar es peligroso. Solo quería asegurarme que saliste del trabajo de forma segura y que todo está bien. Solo estoy… asegurándome. No me ofende su comentario. No es mi bar, después de todo, y sí, es peligroso. Estoy tentada a ver si quiere venir a buscarme después de todo, ya que está despierto, pero mi orgullo no me deja. No quiero ser un problema. Y definitivamente no quiero ser responsable de crear problemas entre él y Cole. Puedo pelear mis propias batallas. —Sí. Todo está bien —miento, agregando un poco de burla a mi voz—. No soy una niña, ¿sabes? —De alguna forma lo eres. Resoplo. Bueno, niña o no, creo que es bueno tener a alguien que cuide de mí. —¿Llamaste a Cole también? —pregunto. Pero no responde. En su lugar escucho un fuerte golpe y algo moviéndose. —Mierda —gruñe. Mis ojos se abren, asustándome. —¿Qué pasa? —El maldito microondas no funciona bien —gruñe—. Sabía que no debí haberlo reemplazado solo para que coincidiera con los otros electrodomésticos nuevos, maldición. No hace palomitas de maíz. Estrecho mis ojos, pero quiero reírme mucho. Se altera tanto. —Hay un botón para las palomitas de maíz —le recuerdo. —¡Lo presioné! —¿Dos veces? —¿Por qué tendría que presionarlo dos veces? —responde como si fuera estúpida. —Porque el tamaño de las bolsas que usas toma tres o cinco minutos de cocción —señalo. —Lo sé. —Bueno, en tu nuevo horno de microondas, al presionarlo una vez solo le da dos minutos de cocción. Para las bolsas más pequeñas —aclaro—. Necesitas presionar dos veces para poner el minuto correcto. Hay silencio y luego escucho un murmullo. —Oh. Aprieto mis labios para no reírme. Su desamparo por esto es bastante divertido. Ojalá estuviera allí. —Bueno —dice después de un breve silencio—, supongo que te dejaré ir entonces. —Oye, espera —le digo, deteniéndolo. Me detengo, insegura de cómo decir esto. —¿Te importa si te pregunto algo? —digo finalmente. —No, supongo. Me humedezco los labios, vacilante. No quiero ofenderlo, pero tengo curiosidad. —¿Dónde están todas tus cosas de la casa? —pregunto. —¿Qué? Respiro hondo, preparándome. —Hay muebles, pero no mucho más. No parece que vivas allí. ¿Por qué? El otro lado del teléfono está en silencio, y dejo de respirar, con miedo de no escucharlo hablar.

• From Love 2.0: Finding Happiness and Health in Moments of Connection (2013)

  Making matters more complicated, eyes-closed positivity is a double-edged sword. At times it can actually be useful. No doubt you’ve heard the phrase: “Fake it ’til you make it.” At times, that can be great advice. My caveat, though, is while you’re faking your positivity, you’re merely seeking a springboard into the real thing. You are not reaping the benefits of genuine positivity. The other side of the sword is blunt and causes far more damage. Eyes-closed positivity cuts you off from precious opportunities to access true positivity. This happens when you strive to find bliss in your safe cocoon, mistaking it as the end, not the means. Although self-praise and other forms of positive self-talk can seem like good strategies for increasing your well-being, whether or not they are depends on whether you “walk the talk.” Put differently, knowing whether your self-talk is positive or negative simply isn’t enough. The positivity you harbor for yourself needs to be fully embodied. Indeed, all true emotions are embodied. “Wishful thinking” positivity, by contrast, remains forever imprisoned within your mind. It does you little good up there, remaining just talk. The embodied positive regard in which you hold yourself has all the markers of a truly positive emotion: It opens you, relaxes you, and helps you see the larger tapestry of life in which you are embedded. It doesn’t tempt you to shun negative feedback or failure. Rather, it supports you, like a well of reserved resources, when you need to take a close look at the hard facts of your life. Above all, genuine, heartfelt self-love is flexible and grounded in reality. These critical ingredients are missing from much of the positive self-talk prescribed in the self-help industry: flexibility, openness, and realism. Absent these attributes, positive self-talk can morph into cold-blooded narcissism. It becomes inner chatter that in fact serves to insulate you from healing connections with others. It drugs you into thinking that while you’ve got your own life together, most other people decidedly do not, and therefore they’re hardly worth your time. Smugness can prevent you from being a true friend to yourself. The key to knowing whether self-correction or self-congratulations are in order is to assess the degree to which either is commensurate with your actual circumstances. This is where the classic tools of cognitive behavioral therapy can work wonders. What evidence backs up your self-talk? Is any evidence being ignored or distorted? Are there parts of the bigger picture that you are conveniently keeping out of view, whether negative or positive? The idea is to check your self-talk against the full reality of the situation as evenhandedly as you can. Whatever your tally of self-criticism or self-aggrandizement amounts to, this same number represents the opportunities you have each day to practice something altogether different: gentleness instead of harshness, openness instead of tightness, flexibility instead of rigidity, an inner smile instead of that all-too-familiar inner scowl. This is what learning to be a true friend to yourself entails.

• From Love 2.0: Finding Happiness and Health in Moments of Connection (2013)

  I shared that what our participants had done was extraordinarily simple—just answer those two questions about their three longest social interactions of the day. Donna soaked up our fresh data with great interest and wondered how her own life might be different if her three longest interactions each day were life-giving rather than life-draining, sources of strength rather than disappointment. Right then, she transformed our accidental finding into her own, self-styled well- being intervention. She set herself a new goal of seeking out at least three interactions each day that held positivity resonance. While she could hardly control the influx of uncertainty and setbacks in her day-to-day life, she could strive to cultivate more loving connections each day. As someone who lives alone, Donna’s new goal was challenging to pull off. But the initial payoff was high enough to keep her engaged. While she’d never kept up with the “three good things” exercise commonly used in positive psychology, in which you write down at the end of each day three things that went well that day and consider why each happened, she did stick with her own “three loving connections” exercise. Several weeks later she wrote me a note to say that she found it made a “huge difference” in her life. She also found that love breeds confidence and strength. The more loving interactions she had, the better prepared she was to face her difficult days at work. Donna observed that her self-styled “three loving connections” activity did two things for her. First, it made her look for people she enjoys being with and inspired her to enhance those relationships. She shared with me, for instance, that after a particularly stressful day, she now would often call her twentysomething niece, just to see what she’s been up to lately and share some giggles. As her phone calls to her niece became more frequent, their relationship grew deeper and stronger. Other family and friends became closer and her relationships with them became more healthy and helpful. The other effect of her “three loving connections” activity was that she now found herself looking for ways to make the difficult relationships in her life better. Her positive and powerful relationships with family and friends had become the new normal in her life, and she strove to make even the difficult relationships in her life better. She had a strong foundation of loving relationships to support her in this endeavor. I had the chance to have lunch with Donna nearly a year later. I asked how she was doing, and she said she was doing great. Her demeanor concurred. She seemed far more relaxed and cheerful than she had during that breakfast at which I first shared with her my lab’s serendipitous discovery. Later, I learned that setbacks and disappointments were still streaming into her life.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  El repiqueteo de la lluvia golpea los cristales de la ventana y siento a Jordan respirando muy pacíficamente a mi lado. Cierro los ojos. Mía. Mi casa, mi esposa, mi familia… mía. A veces, estoy tan abrumado por cuán afortunado soy, que no puedo entender que todo esto es real. Todavía no puedo dejar de alcanzarla cuando está cerca o dejar de ser ansioso cuando entro en la cama por la noche, sabiendo que al fin estamos solos. De repente recuerdo la ropa secándose en la cuerda del patio trasero y salto de la cama. —Mierda —murmuro, poniéndome unos pantalones. Saliendo de la habitación, camino por el pasillo deteniéndome ante la puerta de Jake, y la abro silenciosamente. Duerme en su cama, mientras que el hijo de Cole, Parker, está desmayado junto a él. Ambos se ven como una telaraña de brazos y piernas y me rio en voz baja. Les hemos explicado que Jake es el hermano de Cole, lo cual lo convierte en el tío de Parker, pero es difícil para ellos darle sentido a algo como eso cuando tienen la misma edad. Sin embargo, mi pecho se aprieta cada vez que los veo así. Mi hijo y mi nieto son más como hermanos, y realmente me importa una mierda si parece extraño para otros, porque somos una familia afortunada. Cole conoció a su esposa, Kotori, cuando estuvo en Okinawa, y ambos están actualmente atendiendo a alguna convención a la que su compañía la envió en Las Vegas. Invitamos a Parker a unírsenos por un par de semanas, así podrían ir por su cuenta. Cerrando la puerta, bajo las escaleras, pasando por todas la fotos familiares en las paredes, en la mayoría de las cuales estoy, y cruzo la cocina hacia el cuarto de lavandería. Agarro una cesta de mimbre de la secadora y salgo al patio trasero. La lluvia es poca, pero golpea mi espalda como pequeños dardos, afilados y rápidos. Corro hacia el tendedero y empiezo a quitar las toallas de playa y cualquier otra ropa de último minuto que Jordan quiso lavar para guardar en las maletas. Probablemente tenemos más que suficiente empacado para el viaje por carretera por el norte, pero mi suerte, llegaremos a la casa del lago y estará molesta durante dos semanas porque no tiene aquella camiseta rosa que va mejor con las zapatillas que compró esa vez en aquel viaje. Quito la ropa, metiendo las pinzas en la bolsa, y llevo la cesta dentro. Abriendo la secadora, meto todo y enciendo la máquina, asegurándome que esté lista para cuando nos despertemos por la mañana. Dirigiéndome de nuevo arriba, cierro la puerta de nuestro dormitorio y subo a la cama, Jordan me encuentra de inmediato en su sueño y se acurruca. La rodeo con mi brazo. —¿Todo bien? —pregunta suavemente. —Sí. —Beso su frente, poniendo las sábanas sobre nosotros—. Vuelve a dormir. Gran día mañana. —Sabes que no puedo dormir durante las tormentas.

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  The disaster of Cappel produced a reaction, and a portion of the canton returned to the old church. A new abbot was elected, Diethelm Blaurer; he demanded the property of the convent and sixty thousand guilders damages for what had been destroyed and sold. The city had to yield. He held a solemn entry. He attended the last session of the Council of Trent and took a leading part in the counter-Reformation. Watt showed, during this critical period, courage and moderation. He retained the confidence of his fellow-citizens, who elected him nine times to the highest civil office. He did what he could, in co-operation with Kessler and Bullinger, to save and consolidate the Reformed Church during the remaining years of his life. He was a portly, handsome, and dignified man, and wrote a number of geographical, historical, and theological works.203 John Kessler (Chessellius or Ahenarius), the son of a day-laborer of St. Gall, studied theology at Basel, and Wittenberg. He was one of the two students who had an interesting interview with Dr. Luther in the hotel of the Black Bear at Jena in March, 1522, on his return as Knight George from the Wartburg.204 It was the only friendly meeting of Luther with the Swiss. Had he shown the same kindly feeling to Zwingli at Marburg, the cause of the Reformation would have been the gainer. Kessler supported himself by the trade of a saddler, and preached in the city and surrounding villages. He was also chief teacher of the Latin school. In 1571, a year before his death, he was elected Antistes or head of the clergy of St. Gall. He had a wife and eleven children, nine of whom survived him. He was a pure, amiable, unselfish, and useful man and promoter of evangelical religion. His portrait in oil adorns the City Library of St. Gall. The county of Toggenburg, the home of Zwingli, was subject to the abbot of St. Gall since 1468, but gladly received the Reformed preachers under the influence of Zwingli, his relatives and friends. In 1524 the council of the community enjoined upon the ministers to teach nothing but what they could prove from the sacred Scriptures. The people resisted the interference of the abbot, the bishop of Constance, and the canton Schwyz. In 1528 the Reformation was generally introduced in the towns of the district. With the help of Zürich and Glarus, the Toggenburgers bought their freedom from the abbot of St. Gall for fifteen hundred guilders, in 1530; but were again subjected to his authority in 1536. The county was incorporated in the canton St. Gall in 1803. The majority of the people are Protestants.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  When the rugs were beaten I swept the fireplace in the parlour; then I found some blacklead in the pantry, and began to dab at it with that. I had not leaded a grate since I left home - though I had seen Zena blacking Diana’s fireplaces a hundred times, and remembered it as rather easy labour. In fact, of course, it was tricky, filthy work, and kept me busy for an hour, and left me feeling not a half so blithe as I had been at first. Still, however, I didn’t stop to rest. I swept the floors, and then I scrubbed them; then I washed the kitchen tiles, and then the range, and then the kitchen window. I did not like to venture upstairs, but the parlour and the kitchen, and even the privy and the yard, I worked upon until they fairly gleamed; until every surface that was meant to shine, shone; until every colour was vivid, rather than dulled and paled by dust. My final triumph was the front doorstep: this I swept and washed, and finally scrubbed with a piece of hearthstone until it was as white as any doorstep in the street - and my arms, which had been black with lead, were streaked with chalk from my fingernails to my elbows. I knelt for a few moments when I had finished it, admiring the effect and stretching my aching back, too warmed with work to be bothered by the January breezes. Then I saw a figure emerge from the house next door, and looked up to see a little girl in a tattered frock and a pair of over-large boots pigeon-stepping her way towards me with a spilling mug of tea. ‘Mother says you must be fairly fagged, and to give you this,’ she said. Then she ducked her head. ‘But I’m to stay with you while you drink it, to make sure we get the cup back.’ The tea had been made murky with a bit of skim-milk, and was terribly sweet. I drank it quickly, while the girl shivered and stamped her feet. ‘No school for you today?’ I asked her. ‘Not today. It’s wash-day, and Mother needs me at home to keep the babies out from under her heels.’ All the while she talked to me she kept her eyes fixed on my shorn head. Her own hair was fair, and - much as mine had used to - dribbled down between her jutting shoulder-blades in a long, untidy plait. It was now about half-past three, and when I returned to Florence’s kitchen to wash my filthy hands and arms I found the house had grown quite dark. I removed my apron, and lit a lamp; then I took a few minutes to wander between the rooms, gazing at the transformation I had effected. I thought, like a child, How pleased they will be! How pleased...

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Está feliz en mi casa, está segura allí, tiene una cama y no hay jodidos ratones. Es así de simple. Sí. Así de simple. Después de un momento, la escucho inhalar tranquilamente mientras se estira y toma su cinturón de seguridad, abrochándolo. Trago. —Están pasando Fright Night en Netflix —dice—. ¿Mitad de pepperoni y mitad de taco? Sonrío. Girándome hacia ella, veo sus ojos azules mirándome con el mismo humor que tenía cuando estábamos cortando la sandía el otro día. Vuelvo a poner el auto en marcha y asiento. —Llama —le digo—. La recogeremos de camino a casa. Llegamos a un nuevo acuerdo. Básicamente, ahora soy una arrendataria y aunque el objetivo final es vivir aquí y ahorrar dinero para mi propio lugar en algún momento, no puedo vivir de él como lo estuve haciendo. Quizás pude haber inventado excusas cuando era la novia de Cole, pero ahora, esto tiene que ser justo. Sin importar lo mucho que se oponga. —No necesito tus cuarenta dólares al mes para la cuenta del gas, Jordan. —Entonces déjame pagar el recibo de la luz. —¿Por qué te diría que te quedaras aquí para ahorrar dinero y luego te pediría gastar más dinero? —Estoy ahorrando dinero. Y puedo seguir ahorrando dinero mientras pago al menos una de las facturas, Pike. —O podrías no pagar ninguna factura, ahorrar incluso más dinero y solo irte de aquí más rápido. Y entonces eso me molestó, como si realmente no me quisiera aquí, después de todo. —No, espera. —Se encoge—. No quise que sonara así. Solo... no necesito tu dinero, ¿está bien? Vamos a dejar de hablar ahora. ¿Por favor? Pero no lo hicimos. Seguimos discutiendo hasta que finalmente cedió y me dejó pagar la factura del gas y de los víveres, aunque me hizo prometerle que no remplazaría sus botanas con ninguna cosa orgánica o baja en grasa, con lo que estuve de acuerdo. Si me atrapa cambiando a hurtadillas el café y la leche de almendras, solo le diré que lo olvidé. Llevando la escoba hasta el porche delantero, levanto el tapete de bienvenida y lo sacudo antes de colgarlo sobre el barandal. Afuera llueve torrencialmente y las calles lucen como la parte blanca de las olas del océano mientras las gotas de lluvia caen y salpican el suelo. Me pregunto qué tan bien podrá Pike ver las calles de camino a casa. Aunque todavía es alrededor de la una de la tarde, y aún hay luz afuera, solo que está bastante gris, así que podría dejar de llover antes que salga del trabajo. Paso la escoba sobre el porche de madera, protegido de la lluvia por el saliente.

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  The cloister life was less exposed to these errors. It approached the life of society and civilization. Yet, on the other hand, it produced no such heroic phenomena, and had dangers peculiar to itself. Chrysostom gives us the bright side of it from his own experience. "Before the rising of the sun," says he of the monks of Antioch, "they rise, hale and sober, sing as with one mouth hymns to the praise of God, then bow the knee in prayer, under the direction of the abbot, read the holy Scriptures, and go to their labors; pray again at nine, twelve, and three o’clock; after a good day’s work, enjoy a simple meal of bread and salt, perhaps with oil, and sometimes with pulse; sing a thanksgiving hymn, and lay themselves on their pallets of straw without care, grief, or murmur. When one dies, they say: ’He is perfected;’ and all pray God for a like end, that they also may come to the eternal sabbath-rest and to the vision of Christ." Men like Chrysostom, Basil, Gregory, Jerome, Nilus, and Isidore, united theological studies with the ascetic exercises of solitude, and thus gained a copious knowledge of Scripture and a large spiritual experience. But most of the monks either could not even read, or had too little intellectual culture to devote themselves with advantage to contemplation and study, and only brooded over gloomy feelings, or sank, in spite of the unsensual tendency of the ascetic principle, into the coarsest anthropomorphism and image worship. When the religious enthusiasm faltered or ceased, the cloister life, like the hermit life, became the most spiritless and tedious routine, or hypocritically practised secret vices. For the monks carried with them into their solitude their most dangerous enemy in their hearts, and there often endured much fiercer conflicts with flesh and blood, than amidst the society of men. The temptations of sensuality, pride, and ambition externalized and personified themselves to the anchorets and monks in hellish shapes, which appeared in visions and dreams, now in pleasing and seductive, now in threatening and terrible forms and colors, according to the state of mind at the time. The monastic imagination peopled the deserts and solitudes with the very worst society, with swarms of winged demons and all kinds of hellish monsters.297 It substituted thus a new kind of polytheism for the heathen gods, which were generally supposed to be evil spirits. The monastic demonology and demonomachy is a strange mixture of gross superstitions and deep spiritual experiences. It forms the romantic shady side of the otherwise so tedious monotony of the secluded life, and contains much material for the history of ethics, psychology, and pathology.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Está feliz en mi casa, está segura allí, tiene una cama y no hay jodidos ratones. Es así de simple. Sí. Así de simple. Después de un momento, la escucho inhalar tranquilamente mientras se estira y toma su cinturón de seguridad, abrochándolo. Trago. —Están pasando Fright Night en Netflix —dice—. ¿Mitad de pepperoni y mitad de taco? Sonrío. Girándome hacia ella, veo sus ojos azules mirándome con el mismo humor que tenía cuando estábamos cortando la sandía el otro día. Vuelvo a poner el auto en marcha y asiento. —Llama —le digo—. La recogeremos de camino a casa. Llegamos a un nuevo acuerdo. Básicamente, ahora soy una arrendataria y aunque el objetivo final es vivir aquí y ahorrar dinero para mi propio lugar en algún momento, no puedo vivir de él como lo estuve haciendo. Quizás pude haber inventado excusas cuando era la novia de Cole, pero ahora, esto tiene que ser justo. Sin importar lo mucho que se oponga. —No necesito tus cuarenta dólares al mes para la cuenta del gas, Jordan. —Entonces déjame pagar el recibo de la luz. —¿Por qué te diría que te quedaras aquí para ahorrar dinero y luego te pediría gastar más dinero? —Estoy ahorrando dinero. Y puedo seguir ahorrando dinero mientras pago al menos una de las facturas, Pike. —O podrías no pagar ninguna factura, ahorrar incluso más dinero y solo irte de aquí más rápido. Y entonces eso me molestó, como si realmente no me quisiera aquí, después de todo. —No, espera. —Se encoge—. No quise que sonara así. Solo... no necesito tu dinero, ¿está bien? Vamos a dejar de hablar ahora. ¿Por favor? Pero no lo hicimos. Seguimos discutiendo hasta que finalmente cedió y me dejó pagar la factura del gas y de los víveres, aunque me hizo prometerle que no remplazaría sus botanas con ninguna cosa orgánica o baja en grasa, con lo que estuve de acuerdo. Si me atrapa cambiando a hurtadillas el café y la leche de almendras, solo le diré que lo olvidé. Llevando la escoba hasta el porche delantero, levanto el tapete de bienvenida y lo sacudo antes de colgarlo sobre el barandal. Afuera llueve torrencialmente y las calles lucen como la parte blanca de las olas del océano mientras las gotas de lluvia caen y salpican el suelo. Me pregunto qué tan bien podrá Pike ver las calles de camino a casa. Aunque todavía es alrededor de la una de la tarde, y aún hay luz afuera, solo que está bastante gris, así que podría dejar de llover antes que salga del trabajo. Paso la escoba sobre el porche de madera, protegido de la lluvia por el saliente.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Nueve años después Un trueno perfora el silencio y despierto con un parpadeo mientras los rayos destellan en la habitación. Suspiro, frotándome los ojos con mi pulgar e índice. Más lluvia, maldita sea. Nop. No es mi trabajo preocuparme por ello durante las siguientes dos semanas, así que no voy a hacerlo. Dutch puede encargarse, tengo que creer eso. Jordan y yo nos vamos en la mañana y él está a cargo mientras no estoy. Le prometí que ella y los chicos tendrían mi completa atención mientras estamos lejos, siempre y cuando deje su ordenador portátil en casa y tampoco intente trabajar en nada. El problema con ella es que su trabajo también es su afición, así que en parte me siento mal pidiéndole que se aleje de algo que ama. Pero tiene razón. Los niños necesitan vernos sin nuestros ojos enterrados en alguna pantalla. Vuelvo mi cabeza, bajando la mirada a ella junto a mí. Está acurrucada de costado, su nariz y labios enterrados en mi brazo con una mano sobre mi pecho y hombro. Su cabello largo hasta los hombros está extendido por la almohada y bajo la mano y levanto la sábana sobre sus piernas desnudas y bragas blancas. Lleva la camiseta amarilla que compró en nuestra luna de miel en México, y todavía no puedo decir que está embarazada de cuatro meses con nuestro segundo hijo. Nuestro primero, Jake, está dormido en su habitación por el pasillo. Jake Ryan Lawson. Le puso el nombre de algún tipo de una película adolescente de los ochenta, pero eso no se le digo a la gente. Ella puede decirles, pero yo ciertamente no voy a hacerlo. Pongo mi mano en su muslo y miro fijamente al techo. Tengo cuarenta y ocho años. ¿Qué asuntos tengo con un hijo de seis años y otro niño en camino? Pero maldición, soy feliz. El repiqueteo de la lluvia golpea los cristales de la ventana y siento a Jordan respirando muy pacíficamente a mi lado. Cierro los ojos. Mía. Mi casa, mi esposa, mi familia... mía. A veces, estoy tan abrumado por cuán afortunado soy, que no puedo

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Pero justo entonces, aparece una Corona frente a mí y levanto la mirada para ver a Jordan parada a mi lado. —Hola —dice, su expresión es suave y gentil. Estoy seguro que sería así todo el tiempo si simplemente dejara de joderlo todo. —¿Estás bien, cariño? —le pregunta Dutch. Ella lo mira y sonríe y luego vuelve a mirarme. —En realidad, iba a llamarte —dice, bajando la voz—. No sé si te vas a quedar hasta tarde, pero me preguntaba si había alguna forma de que pudieras llevarme a casa esta noche. No salgo hasta las dos. ¿Es demasiado tarde? Sus ojos se disculpan como si temiera ser un inconveniente, pero por supuesto, le dije que me dijera si necesitaba que la llevaran a casa. Estoy feliz de hacerlo. —No hay problema. Aquí estaré. Pero Dutch empuja mi codo. —Tenemos que estar en el sitio a las cinco de la mañana, solo recuerda. —Está bien —digo secamente, apenas mirándolo. Por supuesto, me encantaría dormir más de un par de horas, pero esta no es una elección. Jordan da un paso atrás. —¿Estás seguro? —pregunta nuevamente—. Podría preguntarle a Shel. Está un poco fuera de su camino, pero no quiero que pierdas horas de sueño. —Está bien —le aseguro—. Aquí estaré. —Bueno, ¿por qué no simplemente le das tus llaves? —dice Dutch—. Te dejaré en casa y ella puede llevarse tu camioneta. De todos modos, me iré de aquí pronto. Hijo de... ¿Cuál es su maldito problema? Pero Jordan se apresura a intervenir, disculpándose. —No, no, está bien. Puedo... —Mierda, dije que estaba bien —digo bruscamente, callando a todos. Luego miro a Dutch—. ¿Te podrías callar? Se da vuelta, frunciendo los labios, porque quiere malditamente sonreír como si supiera algo. Todos se quedan quietos por un momento, sacudo la cabeza, sacando mis llaves del bolsillo. No hay ninguna razón lógica para esperarla si Dutch me ofrece un aventón ahora.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Una vez sentado, tomo el tenedor y dejo salir un suspiro antes de hundirlo en la ensalada. Recuerdo lo que mi madre decía sobre los vegetales mientras crecía. Sabían mejor si los comías cuando tenías hambre. Acabaré con eso de una vez y los comeré primero como Jordan sugirió. Meto un bocado en mi boca y el sabor amargo de las hojas disminuye solo un poco por el aderezo dulce. —Bueno, ¿verdad? —comenta. —No. —Niego—. Me estás matando. Se ríe. —Bueno, gracias por probarlo. Puedes dejar de comerlo si quieres. Pero, de todos modos, persevero. No es como si no pudiera con una dosis de vegetales, ¿cierto? Y no es como si odiara los vegetales. Me gustan las mazorcas de maíz y me gustan... las patatas y eso. Técnicamente son vegetales, ¿verdad? —Así que, ¿qué estás viendo? —pregunta. Miro hacia la televisión y me doy cuenta que el volumen está muy bajo. Alcanzo el control remoto y lo subo. —El club de lucha —contesto. —Oh, mira, nací el año en que se creó. Arqueo una ceja, pero mantengo la boca cerrada. Pero hago las cuentas en mi cabeza, recordando que vi esto en mi último año de secundaria. Así que, sí, sería alrededor de esa época. Mierda, estoy envejeciendo. Al pensar en todo lo que ha pasado en mi vida donde ella no estuvo, o no era lo suficientemente mayor para recordarlo. La observo, admirando su joven piel y esperanzadores ojos. Estaba justo en la secundaria hace un año. Comemos en silencio el siguiente par de horas, absortos en una de mis películas favoritas. No tengo idea si la ha visto, pero después de un tiempo, su plato está a medio comer y olvidado sobre la mesa de café, y está sentada al otro lado del sofá, abrazándose las piernas y mirándola con interés. —Hacen que fumar se vea apetecible —comenta finalmente, mirando a Marla Singer en la pantalla. —¿Apetecible?