For the next couple of weeks, Ingrid’s harp is residing in my living room. I keep catching glimpses of it out of the corner of my eye and thinking that it is a person, quietly standing there. It has no malicious intent.
Sunday night I vacuumed my apartment for the first time in many weeks (when you live on the 20th floor most of the dirt from the outside gets knocked off your shoes by the time you get home) and was surprised at how peaceful the place looks when the plush of the carpet is all going the same direction. It’s almost zen-like. I must vacuum more often.
I spent over an hour last night taking pictures of forks in the light of the fluorescent bulb over my sink. They were neatly stacked, artlessly scattered, clustered and laid out in rows. I have far too many forks.
The thyme and oregano growing on my windowsill are leaping, abundant, green and tangled, but the rosemary fell over dead.
Standing in line at the Strand on Saturday afternoon, I glanced down at a book someone had left on the counter, obviously having decided at the last minute that they weren’t interested in it. It was titled, The Way to Write and Publish a Cookbook. It was priced at $1. I am always talking about how I want to write a book about potlucks and I knew instantly that the book was for sitting there for me. I bought it.
There is a line from one of my recent reads, “Eat, Pray, Love” by Elizabeth Gilbert, that I am singularly unable to get out of my head (I’ve written it down on a notecard that sits on my desk to the left of my computer). At the bottom of page 75, she writes, “One must always be prepared for riotous and endless waves of transformation.” Every time my eyes glance down at it, my heart rises up, competent and composed, to say, “I’m ready.”
Part of what I absolutely love about your posts is your ability to get meaning from so much around you and that you make it into an emotional balm (for lack of better phrasing) for yourself.
I’d love to fill a room with fine sand, a couple of small smooth rocks, and a sand rake. The walls would be rounded, horizontally and vertically. I’d have hidden speakers piping in gentle music or white noise and the walls would be 360 degree movie screens playing scenes of a beach or tropical jungle or … or a Japanese tea house, or maybe a rock garden.
That was a riff on your carpet paragraph, by the way.
As to the music, I’d *love* to hear my favourite selections of Ingrid’s harp playing (harping? that term just doesn’t sound quite right)! Now that you made me think of it, one of the pieces is stuck in my head… ahhhhhhh.