After a visit to
the art store I am fully happy, returning home in the half-hour before dark
when trees and sky can still be distinguished, one from the other, with rolled
sheets of wonderful papers from the big drawers (having learned recently that
rice paper isn’t made of rice, any more than lobster sauce in Chinese cooking
isn’t made from lobsters, although oyster sauce is made from oysters, that
delicious smoky sauce that flavors beef and onions sizzled quickly in a wok,
best at the long-ago hole-in-the-wall café in downtown Oakland with my parents
and some college friends)
. a red paper with
moments of newsprint pressed into it
. a lovely deep
purple paper (and one, silver and purple, I resisted)
. paper with flower
petals
. an elegant teal
paper with a design, like flocked wallpaper in a tall Victorian house in a
rambling yard.
I have been tempted
by the gooey oil paints, the tubes of viscous color, that I would love to glob
onto rough canvases, feeling the sensual smooth ooze of them under a big boar’s
bristle brush. Maybe one day soon
I’ll give in to that urge.
But in the
meantime, I move on to the health food grocery in the next block, and come out
with
. Doctor Kracker
seeded spelt crispbread
. chèvre with
roasted green chili
. cranberry ginger
oatmeal
. black bean and
roasted vegetable burritos and a saffron Indian wrap
. sweet almond oil
for giving moisture to winter skin
. a cherry-red
Chico bag
And tomorrow a
friend has promised homemade tamales, plump in their cornhusk wrappers, ready
to steam.
I am so hungry, for
all these things, hungry with all my senses, wanting and having at the same
time. Greedy for abundant
life. Even the lamplight makes me
happy, in this mood. Its buttery
yellow, that brings back older rooms, the people who lit them. The pile of books beside my bed, the
Thomas Hardy I intend to read again (remembered and pulled off the shelf this
past Bonfire Night), the mysteries from Bookstore Santa Cruz, the little
philosophical sheep book.
And there is always
more, to feed my sensual hunger.
Oh, that’s what’s wonderful—there’s always more.
image: Oil paints, Sarah Jane Studios
no. what's truly wonderful is that you share it all with us. a feast for the senses indeed.
ReplyDeletei am re reading pg wodehouse books of wooster and jeeves stories. i hate to overuse the phrase but they literally make me laugh out loud! and that is what i want right now.
here's to you old bean!
hugs,
tammy j
Oh, I adore PG Wodehouse! And laughing out loud. Robert Benchley always used to make me laugh that way, too. I'm so glad Blogger is letting you comment again. Hugs back.
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