Tuesday, March 18, 2014
I try to keep stuff off the fridge. I do. But one becomes attached. These are the final hold outs. The cocktail menu from my Brooklyn book launch. A birthday card from me to the Frenchman, bought in Cape Town. A kitty cookie cutter, give to me in Koringberg by a Voer blogger who lives in Toronto, fra from home; a photo of Storbie, taken by Wolfgang, upstairs and left for us at our door; and an Airstream post card, included as a small bonus with a purchase I made on Etsy.
Oh... I would love an Airstream. But how the hell does one do that? Six months to a year on the road, across the US of A, eating and cooking and feeding people along the way. Learning the country. Gathering it in groups of four and six and ten or two or just one, around a fold out table covered with a red and white checked cloth. Listening to it talk at night, with moths flapping against the glass chimneys of the oil lamps. The fire still warm. Local produce eaten. Local labourers or farmers or gardeners fed. The cat staring at us through the small window, opening his mouth in a silent Eep, the Frenchman yawning and impatient to get to the previous days' photos of countryside on his computer. The stars wide at night.
What's on your fridge?