Got up this morning, and Jakob was up. We played with him for a little while, and then Kat went out to run some errands. So Jakob and I went to breakfast, and while he was a little fussy there, his demeanor quickly improved when we went and found a piece of grass in the neighborhood. Jakob took a nap, and I read the New Yorker for an hour or so.

First, I was just reminded why I read the New Yorker. The two main articles that I got through were a piece about the Bush economic plan, and it was just so well argued and so well-written that it should be required reading for anyone planning to vote. And the other was about a thirty-seven course meal in France — really about the joys of eating.

And that’s the thing — both pieces were exquisite pieces of writing. They reminded me about the difference betweeen reading and reading. Reading the New Yorker reminds me of why I love to read — not just for information, but for the pleasure of language. It’s wonderful to read writers who love writing and have a true craft of language. And sitting there, on a piece of grass, my son asleep in his stroller next to me, on a perfect crisp September day, that was just lovely.

The rest of the day involved lots of shopping for stuff for school and home… which may not sound joyous, but I did it with Kat and Jakob, and as hectic as life has been lately, there was something just sweet and wonderful about walking around Ikea with Jakob strapped into the Baby Bjorn while Kat and I looked at couches and chairs for my new office.