That kitchen! Why not cook in such a beautiful space? I do related to being the mad woman in search of the perfect recipe. Since it doesn't exist, it was a futile exercise that I couldn't recognize at the time. But I cannot imagine seeing my beloved kiss another; that would rob me of all my desire to cook anything for any one.
What a beautiful home you shared with D.! And what an amazing kitchen. I get a better sense of what you lost - almost like a fairy tale in reverse (the house does look almost like a little castle). I can see also why you loved D. He must have been a very youthful like man - though in this case, behaving like a teenager, or someone in a very late midlife crisis. But, before all this, he must have been a very fun companion.
I think my wife would gladly sell me off as a sex slave to have that kitchen. Or...did I volunteer for that? That's probably it. O, the sacrifices we have to make for the women in our lives!
I love it, Mary. So much so that I just ordered the paperback. I don’t want to wait for the serialized installments, and, after all, I want a physical copy ❤️
I had the strangest sensation reading this, like the words were washing over me. Very evocative, and a beautiful way of telling a bit so beautiful experience. I've read the R. Akiva teaching before, and although at first it's surprising, it makes sense to prioritise yourself in that situation
Here is where life, memory, history, and dreams intermingle. Clear and often startling details, of scenes and emotions. Refrigerators, stolen kisses, Michelle wowing Paris, and not cooking anymore.
I'm taken with your associative style in this memoir, like a dream (nightmare), a blur of experiences, the mind is struggling to see sense in, make meaning of. Like Charade, I think, as I recall it. The presentation of D and S is like that. Flashes in the memory. The kiss at the bar. Walking home alone. Coming upon them, confused, in the kitchen. I hear Henry Mancini. Are you Stanley Donen?
You made me laugh with your last line. Your comment describes exactly what I was trying to do in this chapter--perhaps without fully realizing it at the time. When I posted yesterday, I did wonder if anyone would see that you describe.
That kitchen! Why not cook in such a beautiful space? I do related to being the mad woman in search of the perfect recipe. Since it doesn't exist, it was a futile exercise that I couldn't recognize at the time. But I cannot imagine seeing my beloved kiss another; that would rob me of all my desire to cook anything for any one.
I knowww ...
Oh, man the title for this one just hit me. Ooof. Love your writing, Mary.
Loving you back, Holly. You are, as I keep saying, such a generous soul and full of heart.
What a beautiful home you shared with D.! And what an amazing kitchen. I get a better sense of what you lost - almost like a fairy tale in reverse (the house does look almost like a little castle). I can see also why you loved D. He must have been a very youthful like man - though in this case, behaving like a teenager, or someone in a very late midlife crisis. But, before all this, he must have been a very fun companion.
Yes, yes, and yes. I sound like Molly Bloom at the end of Ulysses. I did love him so much! He overwhelmed me--and isn't that how love should feel?
"Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all" - Tennyson
I think my wife would gladly sell me off as a sex slave to have that kitchen. Or...did I volunteer for that? That's probably it. O, the sacrifices we have to make for the women in our lives!
Made me laugh, and I adore you more, Ben, with this comment. I love your sense of humor and your comments on this live tale.
The dessert story reminds me of airline instructions: "Put on your oxygen mask first before helping others." Sounds cruel, but it's compassion.
I'd not ever thought of that, Bill--though I do think the water in the dessert story presents an even more difficult dilemma.
This is mesmerizing. But I must say: I would kill for that kitchen. Well, maybe I wouldn’t kill, but I might maim...
Love that you are reading this--and your comments are amazing ... big xo ~ Mary
I love it, Mary. So much so that I just ordered the paperback. I don’t want to wait for the serialized installments, and, after all, I want a physical copy ❤️
Oh, golly!
I had the strangest sensation reading this, like the words were washing over me. Very evocative, and a beautiful way of telling a bit so beautiful experience. I've read the R. Akiva teaching before, and although at first it's surprising, it makes sense to prioritise yourself in that situation
These are breathtaking words, Mary. ♥️
You are a blessing, Rebecca. 💕
Here is where life, memory, history, and dreams intermingle. Clear and often startling details, of scenes and emotions. Refrigerators, stolen kisses, Michelle wowing Paris, and not cooking anymore.
That's a good take, Russell, on what I was trying to do in this chapter. I so appreciate the read and the insightful comment.
Incredibly interesting especially the part about fireflies, their behaviour and what happened after the bar encounter. Beautiful imagery too.
Oh, Isabelle, means much. Thank you,
I'm taken with your associative style in this memoir, like a dream (nightmare), a blur of experiences, the mind is struggling to see sense in, make meaning of. Like Charade, I think, as I recall it. The presentation of D and S is like that. Flashes in the memory. The kiss at the bar. Walking home alone. Coming upon them, confused, in the kitchen. I hear Henry Mancini. Are you Stanley Donen?
You made me laugh with your last line. Your comment describes exactly what I was trying to do in this chapter--perhaps without fully realizing it at the time. When I posted yesterday, I did wonder if anyone would see that you describe.