Dear Starlight,
If I sit closer to the window at the end of my dining table and further from the entrance, I can see the river reflecting the sun through the trees. It's a patch of metallic gold. I also see the flat silhouette of the Catskill mountains painted by god in Thomas Cole blue. I usually never sit there but these days I’m finding myself here.
Last night at sunset, I woke from an early evening nap and went to the river to swim in New Moon tides. I met a friend riverside, and almost in silence, we disrobed and sank our bodies into the cool silver sound. The sky and river had become the inside of the great abalone, and my friend's beautiful bobbing face was a pearl. After an eternity, we emerged and sat dripping on savage rocks that had ripped her toe. She said it didn't hurt. We marveled at bursts of pink glitter as fireworks from various river towns popped. Then the lighthouse twinkled a turquoise light repeatedly in the lavender fog like it was throwing a house party for a princess. The neon blinking bugs began dancing in the dark when I finally came home.
Today, my silk shirt stuck to my nakedness with superglue sweat, and I imagined a tent of tuille thrown over my straw hat to both be coy and cut the bugs from my eyes. I found a vintage apron at an antique shop with hand-embroidered flowers and tassels, and I wore it as a pocket holder for my phone.
This week I've eaten chocolate ice cream daily with a success rate of 75%. It's always 100% good, but the ice cream shop is closed two days a week.
My friend visited for a sleepover. We exchanged gifts of tea and chocolate like women from the 19th century. We discovered we both like to go to bed early and are finding ourselves allergic to wine and garlic these days, but we poison ourselves a little anyway. We drank a glass, made guacamole, and grilled shrimp and felt fine until we didn't. Cheers to a dry summer, we clinked the morning after.
Zeus was fighting something so fierce at the top of the week that we were out of power for two days due to the power lines falling as ancient trees were upturned by wind and lightening. My phone died. My lights were out. My internet was gone. I felt a spark in me ignite in the absence of being reached by anyone. I lay in my bed and watched the clouds move until it was too dark to see, and I fell asleep.
Somewhere in the middle of the week, in the middle of the day between jobs, I went for a walk where there is a waterfall. When I arrived, it downpoured, but there was a veranda where I could wait for the clouds to pass. Afterwards I walked towards the waterfall. I heard a crack and watched a grand mother tree fall. She had grown too heavy even for herself to hold up any longer. Some part of me wanted to hold it. On the walk, I ate wild red and black raspberries and noticed an empty cocoon.
I sat on my porch and watched a grey mother bird dash back and forth between the oak tree branch and her nest above my entrance door. Three tiny black heads peeped out of the mossy nest, and a small mountain of white bird shit was being built directly below. The nest was down yesterday morning, and all the birds were gone. There is no way of knowing where they went.
One evening, I realized I was out of milk for my morning coffee and walked up the road to the local general store, which turns into a wine bar come sundown. After buying my milk, the owner stopped me in my tracks to feed me some steak tartar for free and offered a swig from some "super rare" Sicilian bright white vino. My walk home was accompanied by a serenata of cicadas and bullfrogs.
I made herbal iced teas and salads most nights for dinner. Each salad was a seasonal trophy winner. They made me so happy I donned them with names. Go-get-her-pinky!!! Beets and things.
Today, I drove my gentle pick-up truck (she's a hybrid that sounds like a child's xylophone when she's in reverse; otherwise, she doesn't make a sound) through sunshowers with a bed full of native perennials. I had the windows up, the air conditioner and EZ-E on full blast, and I felt me singing along, happily, I felt me.
I journaled, wrote some mornings, painted ceramics, did finances, answered emails, went to appointments, made schedules, fed the animals, watered the plants, and folded the laundry. I realized that the feeling I've been looking for these past few weeks, the "summer break" I've wanted, is here when I remember all the good small things I attend to in my mundane life.
***A little gift for all my paid subscribers below***
After deciding to make Sunday Circle a paid subscription this year and sending one paywall blocked piece I immediately decided that I wanted to continue to share my thoughts freely and fully with whomever wanted to read them.
However, I do see and feel the reciprocity from those of you who are giving monthly $$$, and it feels really GREAT. Thank you! $7 a month is literally you giving me my favorite coffee. You are my beloved morning super charge.
This week I made delicious easy-girl menu’s harking back to my private chef days’s and I thought of you! I thought I could share some yummy-gorgeous-summer saveur.
You might not know this about me, but I was a private chef to the stars once upon a time, I have some Judy Blume stories. Starlight, enjoy a few recipes from this week and THANK YOU for being a paid subscriber—your value to me is more than you can imagine! And if you are still reading and are not a paid subscriber, please consider joining the coffee cup party by upgrading your subscription. Cheers!