Domesticated
I keep finding myself more and more immersed into the Realms of Domestic Bliss. I could be very morose about this. Ten years ago, I imagined myself building a school in Sudan, climbing Everest, or living in a yurt in the redwoods of California, complete with my own hand-woven loin cloth and bra, and a girlfriend named Moonlight Oracle.
Today, I am sitting at my computer surfing through Allrecipes.com, adding a dinnerware set at Bed, Bath, and Beyond to my wishlist, and drooling over
KitchenAid 6 Qt mixers. Yes, I want one. Bad. Not just the simple classic version, but the big major league 6-Quart Professional version...in red.
Today, I enjoy sudoku puzzles, know how to do kegel exercises, am wondering how to build a cold frame for a lettuce garden. I do all this while wearing sock monkey slippers. I know no one named Moonlight Oracle.
Sigh.
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All through the discrepancy between fantasy and reality, though, I notice a common thread of aesthetic passion. Not everybody is wise enough to cultivate that attitude, so congratulate yourself for that.
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