Wednesday, September 14, 2005

raspberry swirl
When making up is this sweet it almost makes falling out worthwhile. Last night I baked a pie – organic beef mince, onion, garlic, oregano and red wine-enhanced gravy encased in puff pastry. The pastry was shop bought, which I’ll admit is cheating, but what the hell it was a pie and I made it. While I was making pie, TA took care of the veggies. I like it when we cook together; it stops the chef from feeling lonely and unappreciated. And we do it well; when we’re good everything is good and preparing food becomes a ballet around the kitchen, with the dancers pausing for frequent embraces. When we are in this state of heightened awareness every shared moment, no matter how mundane or routine, has its own significance and is imbued with tenderness.
TA and I ate pleased-with-ourselves pie and smiled at each other over ruby red glasses of Fleurie. Everything is bathed in a rosy glow at the moment, even without the influence of French grapes. We talked a little about our plans for the sett (I spoke to the surveyor yesterday and his verdict was: good little flat, will need new windows soon, kitchen a bit worn, but you’re paying a good price for it and it’s better built than I expected), TA’s plans for finding a new job and my day at work; we talked about the surprisingly good pie and really rather nice wine.
When dinner was over I suggested that TA talk to his sister while I clear up – since he hadn’t said more than the briefest of hellos to her since returning. I tried to not let the state of the housemate-blasted kitchen annoy me and spoil my happy mood and luckily the dishwasher was able to make light work of the majority of the mess. J and TA obviously had a lot of catching up to do – he had missed the whole “discovery of infidelity thanks to searching D’s text messages” incident and D’s subsequent eviction – and after I’d finished the chores, but TA still hadn’t appeared, I got ready for bed. That sounds dull doesn’t it, but it isn’t because now I have decadent black silk pajamas from Montreal. I love wearing these pajamas – I am a goddess of the silver screen, I am the queen of louche lounging – I reclined on velvet cushions and passed the time by rereading Oscar and Lucinda. TA came in after a few chapters had been read…And so to bed, as the most famous diarist used to write.
In the warm, melting space before sleep I heard TA say, “I think I’m falling in love with you all over again.” It’s a feeling I understand, share and cherish – it’s not that we fell out of love; it’s that we stopped noticing it. It seems miraculous and wonderful that, after three or more years of feeling pulverised by circumstance and unable to really pay attention to each other, just as we’re about to embark on living together in a home we own, we’re back to where we were when we first talked about living together. I had been so scared that we wouldn’t move in to the sett with happy hearts and that this new home would always be tainted with feelings of inadequacy, but now I know that we’re both thrilled by this return to form and now that we’ve found it will do all in our power to stop it slipping away again.
And perhaps now we will recognise future short-term contracts that require travel as welcome and necessary – I think we both used the time apart to concentrate.

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