Hello dearest. You have been much on my mind all day. You are a star in my sky and I would miss you if you weren't there. (Where does this thought come from? A lovely post today by Dominique Browning, which led me to look up a W. H. Auden poem.)
It's the peaceful five o'clock hour. The radio's on, an orange cake is cooling on the kitchen table. I wanted to arrange a charming message on it to photograph for you, but it didn't work out. I don't have stencils, but spent a few minutes trying to make one. I wrote in script "je t'aime" and started to cut the lettering out. But it was coming out all lopsided and I could tell that the blunt medium of confectioners sugar sprinkled in the blank spaces wasn't likely to have the delightful effect I desired. So in a nod to sanity, I abandoned the mad project. But that was my sentiment. Besides, it was - is - also frustrating to think that even if my decoration had worked out perfectly, the mere image of it is so inadequate. I'd like for you to experience the sweet fragrant cake - to inhale it, take a fork to the orange crumb or eat it with your hands, wash down bites with really good coffee, at whichever hour you like.
I was going to post a photo of the cake but as beautiful as it looks in the here-and-now it's not photographing well. I don't have a fine sieve through which to sift the confectioners. I used the strainer part of a lemon juicer. Way too coarse. In the photographs the sugar looks not powdered but like construction rubble.
Oh dearest, why am I forced always to try to put things into words? Why can't I just stare at you across a table?
Which reminds me that I'm contemplating a trip to the city tomorrow. At the moment it seems like too much. But there's a MOMA exhibit that I feel I should see, that ends soon. We'll see.
I hope all is well with you, my dearest love. Very many kisses.