I made a promise to myself and that promise has been kept: for the past 48 hours I have done practically nothing,
and yet so much has been accomplished. On Saturday, as day unfolded into night, a table was laid and, between stories, ten impromptu guests picked at
gnocchi with roasted cauliflower and sage accompanied by
fresh fig tarts with mascarpone cream. Teepee and I floated off before all the guests had left, and as KP played his mother's old Supremes records, I intently continued the dream in which a sliver of
Le voyage dans la lune is captured and spread wide on the wall above the couch.
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Please do tell me exactly what you think, dearests.