Supper in the kitchen

On nights when a chilly breeze blows on the patio, we have dinner at the kitchen table. Candles are added so that we don't sit in a glare of overhead lights. The kitchen table blossoms under tablecloth and silver, so different from its cluttered state during the day, when it holds bowls of fruit, newspapers, a cat, a handbag, groceries. It looks all grown up.

Occasionally Wellington, the one remaining mobile cat, reminds us that he actually eats his meals here during the day and does not see why he should not join us for dinner.

Tomorrow we head far, far north. We fly from the very first suggestions of autumn in Cape Town (that chilly breeze) to the beginning of spring in New York. We will leave behind these daily shared meals with my parents, kind friends, conversations with Tipsy, the garden of birds and flowers, the friendly dogs and the two cats who are perhaps not going to be here next time; and we will leave the easy access to beautiful beaches and mountain, wild flowers on our doorstep, and delicious coffee everywhere. Leaving is very sad.

So it is back to the terrace. I imagine that the chives and tarragon are up, and that the roses are thinking about making leaves. Estorbo will be fat. I am glad he is there to meet us.

Yesterday I processed the final cut of pictures chosen for the story about 66 Square Feet in Visi Magazine's April edition, and lived through them a year on the terrace. An eight page spread of memories and inspiration and two pictures of Don Estorbo himself. The layout looks lovely and it is very exciting to see it all in a magazine I have admired since it was first published.

So. See you in New York.