Back Deck 3.0 Until this past week, the deck had been a weight around my neck, an unfurnished waste land that reminded me every day of all the things I had not done, and empty void that fed my doubts and really accomplished nothing except to fuel my doubts. Last week however, instead of pulling weeds, I spent some time scrubbing built up pollen, mildew and various seasonal stains off the outdoor furniture. Then I moved the furniture that has been here and there and everywhere, most recently on the slate patio, to the deck, the space on the deck that had once held the outdoor dining table, but that too was relocated (deck 2.0). I'd been looking at deck furniture for years, but nothing clicked. Then, at a friend's house, I realized I had been asking the wrong question. I had the furniture I wanted for the deck, I just had it in the wrong place.
Another corner of the deck. These chairs have been here a couple of years. The pillows were meant for the furniture above, but didn't work there and make this corner more cozy. The brick pieces came with me from Hyde Park, were rescued from the original Vassar Brothers Hospital when it was torn down, and moved by me to this location last summer. I sat in these chairs enjoying my birthday breakfast, looking out at a deck that no longer looked like a barren wasteland of empty promises.
Savory Pastry: I made an onion tart, with local onions, cream and eggs. Creamier than a quiche, more custardy, it was light and delicious. I didn't have the right size tart pan for the recipe though, so I actually made several smaller tarts, in a mixture of sizes, some more successful than others. I enjoyed working with pie pastry, I enjoyed the process of making the tarts. This particular tart was too shallow; the deeper ones, with more filling, are more appealing. But again these are minor details. I feel inspired to go through the boxes of baking supplies which have been languishing, unopened, since George died in 2012.
Farmers Market Saturdays. I have always loved farmers market days. It is more than just shopping for me. I like to wander around once, then come back and make my choices, although sometimes I just have to grab things when I see them. I love talking to the farmers and makers. I love the process of imagining what I can make. I love coming home and planning, dreaming of food and future meals either alone or with friends. Market days are imagination days, creative days, and this year especially, when I do not have my own garden, they are all the more necessary. I miss my vegetable garden, even as I know I don't yet know how to work out the details of resurrecting it. That will come in time. In the meantime I still have the market, always have the market. I never had a large garden. I've never wanted to not go to the market. I want my Saturdays to revolve around this, what is local, what is here. For me, life has always, at least as long as I remember, revolved around food. What we eat, how and why we eat it, is a large part of what makes us human, and what brings us together as a community, connects us to each other and the world in which we live. Increasingly I reject the commodification of food because it feels like the commodification of life, and we are all more than that.
This week at the market I was cautious. I avoided buying too many peaches even though I dream of making peach butter. I knew I didn't (don't still) have the energy to make peach butter now, but I might one week. I did buy shishito peppers because I don't have peppers in my non-existent garden. I blistered them in a hot skillet early the next morning, and they sit on the counter, there for the taking and noshing.
Macarons: On my way out of the market I bought a chocolate lavender macaron and I ate it while I cooled down in my car. Pure bliss.
Limelight Hydrangeas: The limelight hydrangeas are just beginning to open. Really, is there anything more to say?
And I promised a picture.
This is what 67 looks like, looking forward to a sixty-eighth year filled with hope. I feel hopeful, like my current self is more in touch with both the promise of my youthful self and the acceptance of limitations of my older self than she has been in a while. Odd talking about myself as an other, or even a group of others. Well, none of us are mono-dimensional after all. I am a universe of cells and ideas and thoughts and dreams.