These little rustic organs brimming with their blood red juices are the object of my current (and deepest) food desires. Replacing fresh dill, and so nicely matched by Ash and I’s new weekly forays into the world of fancy cheese. I will try to take a picture of our next Sunday afternoon patio lunch. There’s just something about my rectangular white tray pilled high with labouriously selected food treasures from Rapers…I mean, Capers. There’s just something about it that brings me such peace (Note: Ash thinks it might also be the bottle of Dirty Laundry’s Hush 2007 which induced said “peace” feeling).
Back to beets. Try them:
…tossed with champagne walnut vinegar.
…in the roasted beet salad at the Libra Room on Commercial Drive.
…on a pizza like food designer Sweet Paul did. No no has made a beet look better.
And she lives on a houseboat, which makes me feel a tiny bit connected to her, having lived on a boat myself.
My marriage education began last night (in earnest). So during commerical breaks of So You Think You Can Dance, I started to read the Art of Being a Woman. The author suggests that the long mistaken notion of jealously between women is actually a form of learning and admiration. We absorb what’s most feminine in our counterparts and slowly adapt those qualities in ourselves. Or we try. Oh we try. Regardless, I like the notion. The rest of the book has been a bit June Cleavery for my taste. But today it has put me in the mood to admire, and Pia makes that easy.
Or, it would have been a sign if the red hand were that white walking man instead.
The honeymoon is booked. Beach Blanket Babylon will be ours for a ridiculously luxurious 17 nights. I’ve never had much interest in all-inclusives, despite suffering through a long-lived and unfulfilled desire to go to Mexico. But, I have to say, I am growing increasingly warm to the idea of:
shopping for a new bathing suit (or three…17 days is a long time)
slushy drinks, pool-side
that hammock on our patio
ps – this picture is a photo we shot in San Francisco. One of my favourites. It’s in North Beach (not a beach).
I like taking pictures of shadows. Lately, as a result of this blog, I have been taking more pictures than usual. Turns out my photography style, if you could call it that, involves a lot of pictures that capture light, reflection of light or Ash’s profile (because I like to catch him off guard). I also tend not to be able to take just one picture of something. I have to keep trying to get it again and again. From this angle and that angle. For instance, this duck. Ash and Whiskey had to pace around on the boardwalk, waiting a loooong time, while I took multiple pictures of the Duck, trying to get all his duck-essence wrapped up into one perfect photo. Funny thing is, I don’t even like birds. But I do like taking pictures, so I’ll be posting more here.
Ash and I have a song we like to sing it the morning. It goes like this: “Going-to-work, crrrh crrh crrrh.”
The “crrh crrhh” sounds really need a live performance in order to get the full effect…but the general idea is one of friction, resistance, denial, fingers slipping off the cliff of our lovely weekend.
The issue is this: I want to be a writer. All those private conversations I’ve had with myself, filed away into so many journals – I am ready to consider them. More importantly, I am ready to act on them. I think this blog is a good start. And hopefully, where words live, readers will come. It’s hard to believe how many of you have stopped by already. Thank you.
Inspiration is such an electric thing. Even the going-to-work song had a little more spring this morning. If you are looking for some, try her and her.
Ok, back to work!
Enjoy your day. Wherever you are. Tomorrow is Wednesday…