I fall in and out of habits; poached eggs for weeks on end, then nary a salted pot of boiling water for a month. Stacks of stationary covered in my rolling scrawl, stamped and sent out on wings, then somehow, the realization that it has been too long since a single letter was penned. And every time the same: how did I forget how much I loved this?
A questionable internet connection kept me from watching a based-on-a-true-story movie of a boy who quasi lived with a wolf pack in the Spanish wilderness. We all seem to act so surprised when a human finds connection with a wild beast, but truly, doesn't that happen every day in our homes? This house holds an inter-species collection of life; we form bonds, pack structure, jostle for position, preform our jobs, sleep together at night, and talk endlessly despite the language barrier. I can not imagine my life with only humans for company. I am too much animal for that much civilization.
These old windows swept my heart away at first sight. The glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling of the studio were merely a bonus. Days like this, when the rain tumbles down and only the rare crow lands on the roofline, I keep the studio toasty. This shelter is a comfort.
In between the perfect croque madame and rustic tarte I was struck, yet again, with how brilliant these women are. Two and half years of near hermitude was what I wanted then, and while it is a hard habit to break, their company lights a spark that only human contact can.
The pan was hot, the onions sizzling, the kettle whistling, but this leaning tower of eggs too lovely to forgo. Most days I consider myself to be a dandy chef, but on the others I'm... well, distracted by beauty. Thank god the coffee was still hot and Bon Iver still played on the speakers.
* * *