Friday, February 18, 2011

Afternoon darling. Beautiful light, there's a pan of pork and cabbage braising in the oven, I'm pretty tired at the moment, brisk walk, no nap, and some clothes shopping, hitting the winter sales, which involved trying on a bunch of things - exhausting. But I did great - a pair of well-fitting jeans and four tailored, almost tissue-weight cotton blouses, Martha Stewartish style I'd say - all for $44. So I'll have some nice fresh spring things to wear in Brooklyn, not that I expect to need them all the time.

It's incredibly beautiful out just now. Snow's still on the ground but melting fast, it feels as though it's in the sixties maybe - springlike. But it's supposed to be in the 30s again tomorrow, so today's just a tease.


Darling, my energy's just draining out of me like water out of a tub. I think of you all the time and am so happy when I receive your page hits. In bed I think of you and can relieve myself. It's Friday evening, oh the weekend, how nice. Is it a weekend off for you? I don't even know, maybe not. Even if it were, when I used to work, I was usually much too tired on Friday evenings to go out. But I like the idea of going out somewhere with you. There was a wonderful restaurant in the old neighborhood, it's gone now, there's a new iteration in its place, but pricier now. But you would have liked the old one, very European in feel, terraced windows open to the street on warm evenings, so one could sit with a glass of wine, perusing the menu over a plate of delectable bits of Italian bread dipped in pale green, flavorful, fruity olive oil, and watch people coming home from work, all sorts, passing by, some with briefcases, some with a bouquet of flowers purchased from the Koreans a couple of doors down, tiny children on scooters, vastly pregnant women billowing past, exhausted Geithner-like men tersely whispering into their cellphones as they march. But you and I would just sit there in dim candlelight, surveying the street. It was a very comfortable place, not cheap, but not overpriced, it felt very comfortable and fair and unpretentious in every respect. Anyway, it's gone now, as so many of the places I grew to love when I lived there are gone. But don't worry! (as Creslyn might brightly say). There are new ones to take their place, new ones that we can discover, which perhaps actually, now that I think of it, is just as well, maybe all the better, we can make the experiences, and the memories, our very own. Afterward, in darkness, we'd walk back to the apartment, hand in hand maybe, passing by the cinema across the street, queues forming, seeing what's playing (I wouldn't be surprised if we catch a film there), and maybe we'll stop in at Sweet Melissa's for the following morning's coffee, because I don't know how to figure out that conundrum. Actually, my friends have a coffeemaker, but I have no idea how to work it, and it seems tiny - oh, I don't know. Plus, I'm spoiled - D usually is up before me and makes the coffee so I hate waiting around for it when I'm in B'klyn. So I'm happy to buy the coffee the night before, refrigerate it, drink it iced with milk in warm weather, or quickly heat it up in a small pot when it's not. I once read that Alexander Haig viewed food as strictly fuel, which intrigued me. There are aspects of me that view it as such, certainly - it's not an aesthetic experience every time. Or maybe it is, maybe just not an ecstatic experience every time. Well, I don't make a fetish out of food. But I do need my morning cup or two, without fuss.

My darling, my darling. We'll figure it out. For all I know - you prefer tea. With milk? Or with honey, or lemon, or sugar? Or straight? I wonder.

Very many kisses, my dearest. Hope all is well with you this weekend eve. Sleep tight. Love you.


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