As I entered the new space for the first time,
I glanced around at the white rectangle that was to be our new living room, and felt an instant panic.
Actually more of an exhausted heave of disheartened surrender.
Really?? This was…it?
Oh, okay, there are a few more rooms. Let me see…
(peering around corners)
This was not a home, I cried to myself, this was...a string of white boxes, connected to one another.
Not connected to me in any way.
How the hell was I ever going to live here?
My heart was thumping, my cheeks flushed in anger. I had not chosen this.
And it simply WOULD NOT DO.
Then something beckoned to me from the corner of my eye.
I looked over, and there it was.
Expecting to be underwhelmed, I gave a patented eye-roll, and ventured in.
It’s big enough for our table.
I hadn’t had an eat-in kitchen since…well, since I was a teenager and lived at home, with the little formica doozy and its matching padded vinyl chairs.
There’s a window, with trees!
I spun around to see the now-dazzling array of cupboards, gleaming and resplendent in their ampleness. I entered fairy tale land momentarily as I watched them open up and invite me in to secret lands and tea parties. My moving day grump was starting to lift. This room was kinda really cool.
I jolted back to earth quickly, realizing that there were still eight million boxes left to schlep up the stairs...when I saw it.
Two wide open shelves crowned by a high arched niche. A kitchen altar!
I saw it all fill in: my books, Spanish bowls, Italian plates, Moroccan urns, odd glass vessels filled with magic secrets, spices, dried herbs...all presided over by bronze statues of Hindu Tara and a consort making her an offering.
And it all became instantly clear:
Here I would write my book.
Here I would work my magic, and delight in Kitchen Witchery like never before...
This is where it would all manifest.
The seeds I so earnestly planted in my sun-drenched old apartment with the mango walls and the wide-plank wood floors. The place I didn’t want to leave.
I am here now. With purpose.
I laughed out loud when I met my new-old stove. Sadly, Magic Chef didn't know what it was in for.
It expired to the minute after I whipped up my first meal, soon to be replaced by a shiny new supremo-fancy model, one that can handle the Venusian charge I give it daily...
A gift from the Cosmos, I do believe.
So, everything does have its season, its purpose.
We are exactly where we should be, right now.
And now, if you will excuse me, I have things to concoct...
Stay tuned, my Loves, for Thursday’s post, bubbling over with tips on how to survive a move...
From my Luna Cucina to yours, with passion and pleasure,