After a morning at
the library I've put together a salad of mixed greens, chicken, blue cheese,
apple slices, avocado, cumin-scented corn, and marjoram from the garden,
finished with a mustardy vinaigrette.
(That my breakfast was a chocolate almond croissant from Voyageur du
Temps, to make up for having to order a new washer and to deal with waterlogged
clothes, I won't mention.)
My resolve is to
make countless salads, all summer. Never
mind that my winter
soup-making didn't
happen, after the yellow split pea with lemon zest and spiced yogurt. Tomorrow, too, I'll make my favorite old
Green Soup, harvesting sorrel from among the Vinca leaves to puree with two
potatoes and a smidgen of nutmeg.
Among my notes,
while looking up the split pea recipe, I find mention of
- an incantation to prevent dog bites
- James Abbott McNeill Whistler's Nocturne in Blue and Silver
- Holy Ghost Canyon
- Rocamadour
- Modigliani's Cello
Player
- Modigliani in the Palazzo Blu
- a vignette of a woman carrying a blood orange and an LP of
Hummel's Septet in D Major
And I'm reminded
how much I like Henri Le Sidaner.
My mind is
scattered, unsettled by the edgy spring wind and the things to do that niggle,
and I want only to crawl under the covers and get warm and let it still.
image: Henri Le Sidaner, La Fenêtre du Midi,
Villefranche-sur-mer
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