Hello my love, thanks for bearing with me, I don't know what was eating me yesterday - I went back this morning and tweaked my post. I'm off the ledge - truly. Not that I was so on it. I don't know - blogging every day has its challenges, that way...

I'm having a little bit of a decadent day, mixed with the let's say - not so decadent. I'm just back from a delightful lunch at my favorite half-price certificate jazzily seductive eatery, where I enjoyed two glasses of Spanish white wine, and a salad of black radishes, of all things - microplaned slices, black-rimmed, each slice - like a raw gratin - coated in a silky flavorful emulsion involving 'white anchovy' and 'harissa' - it was an amazing combination of flavors & textures - the crunch of radish - that wasn't too pungent by the way - and the silky mouthfeel - oh you know, darling, sort of like the collision and perfect intermingling of lips and tongues & teeth, as hungry mouths explore each other - darling

Before that, I stopped by the supermarket -- to no avail
the produce lady was there -- but I abandoned thoughts of at all pursuing my wild imaginative adventures - rousing anyone from mild background torpor in any way -
what will be, will be

at the moment I'm still dressed in my beautiful dressy outfit, that keeps me motivated to walk & work out

but that wasn't the case earlier this morning - I have a bit of news to report
(I'm telling this story all backwards, Memento-style)

I went for my customary walk around here, with weights
on this chilly gray day
dressed in my cardinal-red wool parka and a pair of jeans that
Brooklyn neighbor, who's dropped 35 pounds since last I saw her,
bequeathed to me
they're not a great pair of jeans - 'mom-jeans' - heavy, unflattering
but I wear them on my walks, beneath my winter coat
simply to preserve the life of my good, formfitting jeans - not wear them out unnecessarily

I was almost done with my walk, circling back up a wooded hill, about to turn towards home
and I passed the church, which had minutes before, let out its congregation
parking lot nearly empty, now
Christmas wreath still on the door
I love the building of that simple magnificent brown church, built in the - 1860s?
(I'd have to check)
We've lived here now - seven years in April -
I've peeped into the church once before, a couple of years ago
I think maybe a service was even still in progress

so I was going to pass it by again - yet again - I pass this church every single day
but I thought - no - let me peep into it now - while the door is open - the church is in a 'mode' (even if it's just after the service) - to accept the public

and so - well, I was carrying my weights,
which are utterly innocent
simply implements for some exercises I do in my private moments in my workouts

but maybe I'm too influenced by our culture
and I try to shut out as much as I can
I thought - as I approached the church - let me stash these weights in my pockets -
and enter the church in the right spirit
since - to them - I'm a stranger

and I entered the vestibule, dark & wood,
and there, framed, in cursive, was a
handwritten admonition that read that all ye who enter here
enter the home of Christ -

and that was all the invitation I needed, really
and so I entered, and took a seat in the rearmost pew
and watched a couple of 'church ladies' tidying up after the mass
putting hymnals back in their slots

I'm making an awfully long story - but the Reverend of the church - a woman - approached me, way back, seated there in my pew
and greeted me, inquired in gentle friendly fashion
and I said - I was just passing by on my walk - thought I'd drop by

does that organ work?
I gestured towards the front right of the diminutive, exquisitely crafted church
to a right wall of a mounted set of pipes, peaked as a ziggurat -

the Reverend invited me to check out the instrument
lamented that they'd lost their church organist long ago
due to old age, distance (across the river, Athens), infirmity

I checked out the organ
we both did - the Reverend figured out how to turn it on
I told her, as I clambered onto the narrow wood seat,
taking care not to tread too heavily on the wood keyboard at my feet
trying to keep to the pedestrian treads

that I didn't have much experience with organs
but a little bit
and that bit - in a church -
one summer, many years ago, when I was a chambermaid
in Ogunquit Maine

and the breezy white clapboard church, with its organ,
was open afternoons
and I was welcome to stop by there - and so I did
many an August afternoon, playing the instrument,
engaging both hands, and feet

anyway - bottom line is - darling - believe it or not -
well - I have a couple of hymnals in my possession at the moment
that I didn't have before
and it seems that they've been searching for an organist
because computer pre-recorded music simply doesn't do

and so that's that, darling -
what do you think of that?
I think I will enjoy that - very much -
even if - once in a while -
I have to play Bob Dylan's 'Blowing in the Wind' -
on organ

all my love
many many many kisses
xoxoxo