Well I'll be dipped in shit!
That's what Joe would say if he were me, realizing its been almost a month since our last exchange.
So here's my apology: I've been spending a lot of time on the computer these days, at work and at home, trying to wrap my brain around things that seem to have the consistency of goo--making them very hard to grasp. So I'm sure you'll understand when I say that I've wanted nothing more the last few weeks than doggie snuggles on the couch, and hot tea and a pair of knitting needles in my hands. It feels so good to
make something when you've spent 10 hours
staring into what my co-workers must certainly think is a dark oblivion. Forgive me.
But while I've been somewhat remiss in writing, I was also very productive. I knit 3 hats
and cleaned. I know, I know. It doesn't sound like much. But that's just because you have no idea how long it takes me to start a hat when the television is on (longer than it takes me to answer a question with the tv on--a scary prospect for those who know me). I also have a really hairy dog. Oops! Lucky for her my head is also very hairy, so I can hardly be mad at her.
Then, of course, there was Thanksgiving. My secular holiday of choice. As per usual, we got to spend time with friends and family and Todd's wine cabinet. It's always very full when he's expecting the kids--a nice spin on the traditional Cookie Jar.
Among the many wonderful things I did over the Thanksgiving holiday--including eating, watching James Bond, and knitting hats--I saw my first ballet in
6 years. My jaw just dropped, writing that sentence.
My mother surprised me and Joe with tickets to The Nutcracker. We all put on our Sunday Best and took a short walk from my mother's studio in Queen Anne to the home of the Pacific Northwest Ballet. The biggest surprise of all, however, was the feeling of utter joy, of the lightness of childhood, of catharsis and regret and wonder. I was crying not 2 minutes into the Prelude.
There are some treasures that float through the world unnoticed like a scent on the breeze until suddenly they are right in front of you, whisking you into a moment of heaven that is the memory of small, forgotten things. A tube of Rootbeer chapstick from the 3rd grade, the smell of mildewed roses, and apparently the Prelude to Tchaicovsky's Nutcracker Suite are a few of mine. Just those first few notes and suddenly I was smelling hairspray, feeling the stickiness of red lipstick, hearing the pounding sounds of point shoes on the stage above. And I was dreaming! Dreaming of a romantic life filled with painful rehearsals, blisters and bunions, tutus, tights and cigarettes, but most of all, the boundless pleasure of being a dancer--strong, graceful, beautiful, admired, mysterious. I miss that world, that part of myself.
As the curtain rose and the dancers took to the stage--in that gleeful, Nutcracker sort of way--my heart started to settle a bit and looked towards the new life I'm making for myself. I couldn't help but be thankful for my soft feet, a job without pressure, hobbies!, nesting, and of course, the man I found sitting on a bench outside Gonzaga's Cathedral.
It was a wonderful, magical night. Finished the way all Ballets must be finished: with Port and Maple Tart.
And while I risk my reputation as a reasonable person by saying this, the day after was just as nice. My mother and Tim and I spent most of an afternoon peeling, juicing and slicing lemons. We ate Non-Pareils, which, in my opinion, are delicious but don't quite live up to their name, listened to great music, did some shopping and marveled at the unbearable sweetness of my very hairy dog.
Then, as if all of this holiday joy wasn't enough, my mother took us out for a delectable evening at Seattle's newest crush--
Delancey, of
Orangette fame. If you decide to go here's my advice: Burrata, The Brooklyn. That's all you need. And maybe one of her scrumptious salads on the side. And a cookie. And maybe some wine. But seriously, that's it.
Delancey was a lot of fun, and part of it's charm was the fact that we spent 2 hours at a dive bar called Tarrasco's drinking vodka tonics and playing darts while we waited for a table. We waited 2 HOURS. And I didn't even care. I never thought I'd see the day. Funny enough when we sat down at the bar the server took one look at us and said, "Are you waiting to get in across the street?" Obviously we weren't alone--and not dressed for Tarrasco's. I'm sure things will calm down over there once the newness has worn off, but until then, Tarrasco's and the Bella Umbrella are thanking their lucky stars for the day Delancey moved in. And so am I.
Now that we're back my nights are equally busy with projects of all shapes and sizes. I feel like a Christmas Elf, working diligently with a smile and a big glass of Egg Nog. I get home around 4:30 most days and am simply dumfounded when, after what seems like an hour, Joe announces that he's getting ready for bed. Time flies with the wool, as they say! (Or I might have made that up).
'Till next time!
