Sunday, April 17, 2011

My darling, things seem to be coming together towards a conjunction, I do hope. Spent the day mostly playing sous-chef to myself, making pie dough and baking unfilled pie shells (three sit fragrantly now cooling on the sideboard), chopping sweet onions, leeks, asparagus, and who knows what other food prep, it's all now a blur of activity. I'm not normally quite so vigilant about being organized, but the apartment is on the top floor, reached by climbing a steep staircase, so yes, I do like to be well-provisioned the first couple of days anyway, once the car's been unloaded and belongings hauled up, because I have never relished the idea of running out of something and having to run all the way downstairs for it, then down the street or around the corner. I lived in that building for fifteen years and if I needed to pop outside - no problem, I just almost literally ran out the door and bounded down the stoop steps.

So I plan in advance for my first few days, and within that period settle into a comfortable routine, where late afternoons, after a museum or movie perhaps, I find myself thinking of the following morning's coffee and as I walk down Court with its charming shops or DeGraw where I pause to peer (as if placing my eye to a fabergé confection within which resides a sugared springtime tableau) through honeysuckle vine-covered chainlink (in which tiny birds invisibly nest & chirp) into the depths of a telescopically narrow exquisite private garden, brilliantly planted with perennials that from week to week emerge, unfold, recede, grounded in the middle distance as I recall with the timeless calm omnipresence of a large round stone, make it a point to stop in at one shop or another, accordingly.

What a nut. I'm feeling great, actually, though I suppose I may sound anxious. But you know - better fretting about details now, so that everything's laid out and relaxed The Day Of. No fretting or sweating minor details of that nature once we're up in that aerie. That, really, is the point of all my "best laid plans" now. Plus all that cooking and chopping and making salad dressing and putting a roll of paper towels in a shopping bag to take down (along with other items) made the day just fly by. Your Dora Maar was the domestic muse today, my dearest Pablo, in pleasant anticipation.

My darling, putting my arms around you and planting a kiss on your cheek. A bientĂ´t.

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