Jeffrey is asleep in the red chair, glasses on, a couple music magazines in his lap, one open on his chest. I watch him snoring, suddenly waking to ask a question, then falling back to sleep. And all I can think is how wonderful it will be to be together for the rest of our lives. We're both full of pungent French cheeses, a wonderful engagement gift from Bernadette and James. Our house smells like death and we couldn't be more pleased. We had a French picnic for dinner tonight with cheese and fruit and baguette and roasted garlic. Then we watched a movie with Audrey Tatou to get us further in the frame for France.
We went to see the boat today on which we are going to have the wedding. It's smaller than I thought it was going to be, so we're going to have to keep the guest list pretty tight. And it's going to be fairly cas, I think, because people are going to be eating sort of appeteaserish foods with plates in their laps.
Yesterday our friends threw us a lovely engagement party. It was really touching. After we opened the gifts, which were wonderful and wholly unnecessary, Luis said, "With gifts, it is real now." But it's been real for a while, I think. Or maybe I haven't even seen the realness of it yet.
In music news, my private and public spheres collided today when my piano teacher did an arrangement of a Vietnamese folk tune my mom had sung to me when I was a kid. I sang it for Jane, my teacher, a couple weeks ago, and today she wrote it down. Then she played it back to me. It was astonishing: A Vietnamese song on an American instrument. It freaked my shit out. Seriously.