Wow...I was this many years old before I made a conscious effort to watch ballet. I can't believe it because I've always like Tchaikovsky, just never watched ballet. Pretty sure Ed Sullivan may have had it a time or two, but damn if watching that didn't just lay a seed of a story in my brain. I may have to do a little digging...
"with its gold inlaid border that had begun to show the table’s age—now gone—like all the Sunday dinners, the weeks and months and years, in soups I had simmered, made fragrant with carrots and onions, bay leaf and peppercorns, in roasts I had crusted with pepper and salt, with leaves of rosemary grown in my garden—now gone—in buttery pie crusts I had rolled on my marble board in the kitchen—I still have the board but no room to lay it down—filled with blackberries from the bushes by my fence—gone—" I love the way you season this passage with the word "gone", adding so much poignant spice. Delicious writing!
And I love the dancing. I'm a big fan of Balanchine.
This chapter captures the frustration in the relationship with D. and the seemingly impossible puzzle to solve, as the square and circle remain, by definition, different shapes. Nice dance by beautifully different shapes.
Love the fragmented style here, Mary, and the inner questioning. A lovely table, by the way, and a lovely pie (just made my first squash pie last night, from one of my own butternuts). Quite irrelevant to the post, but now I want your crust recipe :)
Love the Lisa Sanders quote, too -- the business of learning to see is lifelong, isn't it? Do we ever see more clearly? I've debated this with friends who think that memoirs are best written after the key characters have died -- and from the vantage of a more seasoned age. There is always the trap of airing grievances that Annie Dillard warns us against, and which younger selves sometimes fall prey to more often. But I think too seasoned a perspective can make the past feel safer, more sanitized than it was. And so there are is value in writing about experiences even when they are raw -- there is a different story to tell about the moment then.
Seems to be human nature to lash out or seek revenge when emotionally wounded-or maybe it’s ego. Either way, it takes self control and maybe a little therapy and/or prayer to find peace.
Beautifully written as always Mary, and I could smell your delicious meals on that mahogany table!
Wow...I was this many years old before I made a conscious effort to watch ballet. I can't believe it because I've always like Tchaikovsky, just never watched ballet. Pretty sure Ed Sullivan may have had it a time or two, but damn if watching that didn't just lay a seed of a story in my brain. I may have to do a little digging...
Balanchine’s women never needed a man to keep them upright. And that’s how I read your “seeing.” ❤️
"with its gold inlaid border that had begun to show the table’s age—now gone—like all the Sunday dinners, the weeks and months and years, in soups I had simmered, made fragrant with carrots and onions, bay leaf and peppercorns, in roasts I had crusted with pepper and salt, with leaves of rosemary grown in my garden—now gone—in buttery pie crusts I had rolled on my marble board in the kitchen—I still have the board but no room to lay it down—filled with blackberries from the bushes by my fence—gone—" I love the way you season this passage with the word "gone", adding so much poignant spice. Delicious writing!
And I love the dancing. I'm a big fan of Balanchine.
Wow! And the writer turns her gaze on herself.
Now where to???
This chapter captures the frustration in the relationship with D. and the seemingly impossible puzzle to solve, as the square and circle remain, by definition, different shapes. Nice dance by beautifully different shapes.
"This ability consists of casting a wide net to see the whole picture—"
A great tool in writing our characters and place.
Another stunning and enjoyable read. Taking it all in - I appreciate this so much ... Thanks, Mary xo
This is really beautiful Mary. The “revenge” question particularly interesting!
Love the fragmented style here, Mary, and the inner questioning. A lovely table, by the way, and a lovely pie (just made my first squash pie last night, from one of my own butternuts). Quite irrelevant to the post, but now I want your crust recipe :)
Love the Lisa Sanders quote, too -- the business of learning to see is lifelong, isn't it? Do we ever see more clearly? I've debated this with friends who think that memoirs are best written after the key characters have died -- and from the vantage of a more seasoned age. There is always the trap of airing grievances that Annie Dillard warns us against, and which younger selves sometimes fall prey to more often. But I think too seasoned a perspective can make the past feel safer, more sanitized than it was. And so there are is value in writing about experiences even when they are raw -- there is a different story to tell about the moment then.
Seems to be human nature to lash out or seek revenge when emotionally wounded-or maybe it’s ego. Either way, it takes self control and maybe a little therapy and/or prayer to find peace.
Beautifully written as always Mary, and I could smell your delicious meals on that mahogany table!