Dear reader, it would be too dreary if I followed my own rules on irregular posting. Please just know if things stagnate around here from time to time, it's because I'm in the grips of a feverish creation or, more likely, overwhelmed with everything else I'm supposed to be doing.
And I thought today I would take a page from Soulemama and attempt a "this moment" photo...but then I realized the whole point of such an endeavor is to leave the reader with a wordless image. And that would prevent me from telling you things. Spooky things.
Like how I love, especially at this time of year, to stay up late after everyone has gone to bed and wander through the house. The lights are off, a few candles flicker, and I am so deliciously alone. Maybe I will move some things around. I wonder will anyone notice? Sometimes I like to just stand and look at the little compositions of objects arranged here and there: the tapered candle, the old key, the fox looking so dapper in his moss green cravate. Everything is quiet and I am quiet, too. How do I feel? Spellbound, as if there is a secret in the darkness and I am the only one who knows it.
And today will be lovely, because tonight we are having a dinner party! I am making, among other things, boeuf bourguignon, Julia's boeuf bourguignon, and after I finish writing this I will go downstairs where there is lovely music playing, tie on a pretty apron, and spend the rest of the morning chopping and stewing things and creating a layer of aromas guaranteed to intoxicate the human soul. Then I will set the table with a lovely cloth and napkins and dishes, and everything will be arranged just so.
And why will this make me happy?
Because some of the best memories of my childhood center around having company over for dinner. It was a very common occurrence in our home, yet always a special event. My mother made it so with her beautiful dishes and flowers from the garden, candlelight, music, and delicious things to eat. And the guests were always interesting, usually from another country, and so the conversations were filled with heavy accents and no end of topics which sparked my wonder and imagination.
And I know, throughout this day, as I smooth the tablecloth down and decide upon candles and pause to straighten a knife here, a fork there, my mother's spirit will be with me every step of the way.
And that is the very best kind of haunting of all.
