- Every morning, a man walks by my window wearing USA flag shorts and no shirt. Sometimes he stops and looks at our menu that’s taped on the window. I wonder, does he have multiple pairs of USA flag shorts? Does he wash the one pair every day? I’m afraid he doesn’t.
- I use a thick book as a sort of booster seat to make our dining chair/tables more ergonomic when working on my computer. The one that is most comfortable is Grande Livre de Cuisine by Alain Ducasse. It feels a bit disrespectful to sit on it.
- The A/C repairman came to fix the unit in the back of the restaurant. After he left, the front A/C went down. This only happens in July.
- I brought Q-tips to better clean out the POS system keyboard. And I’m looking forward to it. I’m aware that I’m weird.
It’s no good, I can see I’m in for a bad fit of the blues. I await it calmly, with a heart that is used to it, knowing I shall recognize its normal phases and get the better of it once again. No one will know anything about it…
I know there’s no escaping what’s coming: suffering, regrets, and the insomnia and solitary musings that make the deepest hours of the night longer still. So I go to meet it with a kind of grim gaiety, and with all the serenity of a creature still young and resistant, who has been through it before.
aperitif. digestif. candlelight. patios. floating. picnics.
popsicles. sprinklers. coffee shops. hanging plants. farmers markets. kneading bread. glasses of wine. record players. hats. pumpkins. autumn. journals. zines. sewing. calligraphy. family dinners. sunday suppers. martinis with olives. mail art. lacy curtains. ice cream sundaes. dark movie theaters. hammocks. white sand. blue ocean. drink umbrellas. scarves. mismatched sheets. ships. mermaids. paris. lobster boats. dictionaries. carrots pulled from the garden. naps. sunny rainstorms. creme brulee. french. jars of preserves. jars of pickles. succulents. lingerie. cognac. shady trees. cool breezes. salty ocean air. seashells. japanese kitchens. tins of seafood. fried whole sardines. palm readers. moleskines. foreign currency. hardwood floors. toasted marshmallows. city walks. turning leaves. fried catfish. typewriters.
to be continued.
I liked French Milk much better. It’s hard to get past her “foodie” upbringing.
Just finished The Sun Also Rises. I can feel the heat of the top of the bus. I can taste the sherry, the brandy, the cold beer. I can feel the anxiety of watching the bulls run. I can see the trout fresh from the stream, the purple bruises on the bullfighter’s face, the tragic look of love from a woman so close yet so far. Oh, how I love Ernest Hemingway.
You know it’s gonna be a good day when it starts with a spoonful of cookie dough. (at Foreign & Domestic)