Someone else cooking fish for me is a good thing. Especially someone else who loves to cook fish. Earlier this evening I was invited to share in wild salmon that such a someone else had cooked. Ahhh..
But there are times to turn down invitations, even kind ones of sweet and smoky grilled sockeye and caring company. I didn’t enunciate it at the time – in fact I’m not sure that I said even a decent thank you for the offer – but I simply couldn’t leave the highest room in the house, with my scarred pine writing desk freshly decluttered and glowing in the golden afternoon August sunshine that came low through the trees like a warm bridge to evening. Rainbows scattered along the walls and ceiling (a faceted crystal hangs in the open window, ready to play with the light when it comes in). The perfect breeze billowed the edge of the bell-trimmed curtain and said hello equally to my summer-bare shoulders and my two notebooks (one electronic, one paper). It felt, for those moments, as I have always wanted my creative workspace to feel – beautiful, full of possibility, and happily unleavable. Being anywhere else would have felt like an exile from paradise. A paradise I have often sought, but almost as often turned from in the swirl of other obligations. But those perfect moments fueled me for the evening, and let me quietly shape a long-simmering idea in the comfort of creative solitude, and to renew my trust in this treasured place. Much to be said for the well-timed missed dinner (and for dessert, I finally broke a 5-month blog hiatus)!