Love, love, lovely love of mine.
I’m here for you in the sleepy slumber of your nighttime dreams.
On the wind of winding nights as ivy bends and grows on trees.
Do you hear me on the breeze as limbs creak and windows squeak?
Love is the language that I speak.
Love is the rhythm of my heart’s beat.
I grow and I flow in your blood as your racing heart thumps and pumps.
The shallow breath that falls off your lips leaves you pale and weak.
Keep your eyes shut, my love; and fear me not, you see.
The prickles on your skin feel me swirling nearer and nearer; you can’t hide; you can’t compete.
I’m here as you sleep.
As you weep, my love, like the winding vine grows.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
China Affair
For whatever reason, I’m obsessed with china. I adore plates. Tea cups and saucers send me into blissful oblivion. Add a fancy charger and I might not be able to contain myself. My dear little dog is named China and my other dearly departed dog, Shakti, now rests in a beautiful sugar vase that has a dainty lid and resembles an urn. It was all too appropriate I thought, since she sat with me as I drank coffee and tea and loved her sister named China. Anyway, all of this makes me sound loopy but it is true. I want to cook so I can decorate the table and actually invite someone to sit down to it. The food adds beauty, of course, but I’m looking at the Limoges no doubt about it. Why all the blistering excitement over porcelain? I ask myself this all the time.
I think I was raised by a woman who was always aware of the motto ‘Its the presentation that matters’. No, I know I was raised by her, but I think that was her motto and it made a hasty jump from her everyday intentions to both of her daughters’ everyday intentions. I claim several odd tendencies like this, but the china collecting came from no where. I never spent time in the kitchen when I was young. It made me anxious and I only wanted to escape it. My sister and mother were okay with that, often welcoming my departure so they could continue their delightful culinary experience without my furrowed brow hanging about. But as I’ve grown older I’m drawn toward this thing… an experience one has at a nicely decorated table with beautiful china and real, delicious food. I love it. I use all my china. I store none of it. I set the table and my husband and I sit down across from one another and talk and eat on fine china and drink from crystal and wipe our mouths with cloth napkins and Damn! It feels like I live the good life every night we do it!
I remember stories about women who regretted registering for fine china, stating that they stored it in their attic nicely and securely and never touched it again (with the exception of some grand occasion like an engagement party or the occasional Christmas when the entire family came over). Then, I once read a very touching story of a husband who had the unfortunate task of sorting and packing away all of his wife’s belongings after she tragically passed. He noted that she had such special possessions that were, let’s say, ‘in waiting’. She was holding on to them for a special occasion that warranted using them. She had lingerie with the tags still on, china that she loved in bubble wrap, and when he saw this he said it broke his heart. It was a strong life lesson for me. And from then on I used my favorite stationary and lathered my fancy soaps. Now, still having kept the essence of that lesson, I choose to decide that any day I want to be special is special and I use my Bernardaud. Don’t feel like cooking? Doesn’t matter one bit! I put Whole Foods pick-up on my pretty plates! And when I pass it on in the end, I will love the memories created by my china obsession even more than the actual set of china.
Yes, it’s just a plate. But it’s an opportunity too; to feel special, to invent celebrations, and to be your grandest. “Do you love it? Use it!” That’s what goes through my head. Unfortunately for my husband, when I’m shopping and see china, “Do you love? Get it!” also goes through my silly little brain! Oh well… a boy needs to eat and it is after all the reason why I cook!
I think I was raised by a woman who was always aware of the motto ‘Its the presentation that matters’. No, I know I was raised by her, but I think that was her motto and it made a hasty jump from her everyday intentions to both of her daughters’ everyday intentions. I claim several odd tendencies like this, but the china collecting came from no where. I never spent time in the kitchen when I was young. It made me anxious and I only wanted to escape it. My sister and mother were okay with that, often welcoming my departure so they could continue their delightful culinary experience without my furrowed brow hanging about. But as I’ve grown older I’m drawn toward this thing… an experience one has at a nicely decorated table with beautiful china and real, delicious food. I love it. I use all my china. I store none of it. I set the table and my husband and I sit down across from one another and talk and eat on fine china and drink from crystal and wipe our mouths with cloth napkins and Damn! It feels like I live the good life every night we do it!
I remember stories about women who regretted registering for fine china, stating that they stored it in their attic nicely and securely and never touched it again (with the exception of some grand occasion like an engagement party or the occasional Christmas when the entire family came over). Then, I once read a very touching story of a husband who had the unfortunate task of sorting and packing away all of his wife’s belongings after she tragically passed. He noted that she had such special possessions that were, let’s say, ‘in waiting’. She was holding on to them for a special occasion that warranted using them. She had lingerie with the tags still on, china that she loved in bubble wrap, and when he saw this he said it broke his heart. It was a strong life lesson for me. And from then on I used my favorite stationary and lathered my fancy soaps. Now, still having kept the essence of that lesson, I choose to decide that any day I want to be special is special and I use my Bernardaud. Don’t feel like cooking? Doesn’t matter one bit! I put Whole Foods pick-up on my pretty plates! And when I pass it on in the end, I will love the memories created by my china obsession even more than the actual set of china.
Yes, it’s just a plate. But it’s an opportunity too; to feel special, to invent celebrations, and to be your grandest. “Do you love it? Use it!” That’s what goes through my head. Unfortunately for my husband, when I’m shopping and see china, “Do you love? Get it!” also goes through my silly little brain! Oh well… a boy needs to eat and it is after all the reason why I cook!
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