Dearest, Kitty here, interpreting page hits. Are you saying that maybe you could relate to my childhood, maybe yours had not dissimilar difficulties? (All unhappy families are just alike - to my mind.) Yes, sometime Before Sunset would be nice - that is a fantasy I've had - have you seen the film? I understand, Dmitri, the whole double life thing. I mean, not the particulars, but in broad terms. Double life, in the sense of important edifices to protect, I understand. But Jekyll/Hyde, or Dorian Gray? That's not how I see you. Though it's funny, the time we met a couple of years ago, I didn't know you at all (of course) but sensed that there was more going on than you were letting on, than you wanted or could let on. I don't mean to me - hardly that presumption, we didn't know each other at all - but in general. That the image you took pains to project was too good to be true, more than I could believe. I even mentioned it after you left. I didn't know what to make of it. I mean, I was familiar with the syndrome (if that's the word). Had gotten to know, sort of, someone who had let me know he led his life like that. And I too found myself bifurcating. So I was primed to recognize it, and there you were. I don't know that it made you more interesting to me, I can't say that. More, it puzzled me, surprised me, because I had always seen you as so thoroughly and comfortably in "their" camp (sorry my prose is awkward, I mean, you just seemed to fit in with them so entirely well). Anyway. Or perhaps I'm off the mark - perhaps it's all separate, utterly unrelated page hits, from Cook County, from Rhode Island, from New York City, Milan, the Russian Federation, and the like. But I don't know - I don't think so. I'll put it together, let my intuition guide me. (@ Copenhagen - you really landed on my blog by googling "a spanking"? LOL!)

On the radio now Joni Mitchell and Herbie Hancock play Court and Spark. The sun never came out today. Easier going at the conservation area this morning because the snow was frozen. On the other hand, there were so many deep holes that twisting my ankle was a serious possibility so I had to be careful. Finished editing a Finnish fairy tale. I'm thinking more and more about fairy tales, and in terms of them, than I ever have in my adult life, between My Friend in Finland, and the Coen Brothers yesterday. Looking forward to dinner tonight, a recipe made from a library book of Indian cookery (the author - the very book in fact - whose book signing I didn't go to a few weeks ago). Chicken thighs baked with fragrant seasonings and spices: fresh ginger & cilantro, plain yogurt, cayenne, black pepper, and a mortar-and-pestled mixture of cardamom & cumin seeds, cinammon stick, cloves, black pepper, and nutmeg. Which we'll have with the sauce spooned onto a bed of perfumed basmati rice. (Here's a spoonful for you darling - taste - what do you think? Delightful, isn't it? My love - kiss.)

Read the introduction to a book about Pierre Bonnard, who once (lundi, 17 janvier 1944) noted, "Celui qui chante n'est pas toujours heureux" -- one does not always sing out of happiness, as the author of the book translates. [In my inadequate French I venture -- the one who sings isn't always happy?]

Then again, the one who doesn't sing isn't always happy either.

Happy families are all alike.

Darling, sweet dreams. XOXO