Tong work.

In a great show, Spring dropped her towel to reveal herself to any curious enough to look. Summer exposed like body parts, blooms and plumage pushing up and out between small spaces, cracks and crannies. Strong smells, warm winds.

I have been reading a small book of poetry titled The Shanty Horses by Bob McGee. Chanel bought it for me on our Sunday date, walking around the neighborhood in bathing suits and stupid hats. The cover called out to me: James Bay poetry. The language of the poetry transports me to the bush, it is incredible how the universe handles want and sadness simultaneously.

Last night I made dinner for six and ate alone. These funny portions always make me laugh and think of Aunty Marj who always cooked for an army, just in case. I can hear her laughing as casserole dish after steaming casserole dish were laid on the tablecloth "in case someone shows up hungry". Come hungry, hungry family. I was waiting for Simon, hoping he would just show up hungry despite my ongoing issues with communication. Telepathy failed, so I enjoyed my glass of dollar wine and white fish (breaded in milk and Cream of Wheat [thought it was the jar of breadcrumbs, not so]), weird pasta, perfect June evening in my rocking chair beside the begonias.

Forty seven year old virgin.

I just had an incredible conversation with my old friend and colleague Kate. It never fails to amaze me how restorative conversation of these sort can be. Kitty is one of the most determined women I have ever met. Her decisiveness frightened me to death when we first worked together on a sandwich bar, her strength coming out of every movement, fast tong work, fast sandwiches.

* Sorry if those photos offended anyone. I noticed too late their offensive nature, I apologize. No harm meant.