Remember what Mia Farrow says in "Hannah and Her Sisters"? "My needs are enormous."
That is the way I feel these days.
Right now I am thinking about tomatoes. Every summer, it feels like forever until they get here. And it's funny, the magazines that come to the house always seem to operate under the supposition that we have homegrown tomatoes starting in June. I do not understand that. On what planet do they have fresh homegrown tomatoes in June? And there is nothing more boring than a hothouse tomato.
So I sit, and I wait. And I get more and more impatient. I mean, white beans were fun for a while. You can throw some fresh sage in there -- I do have that in the garden, though I have to dig into the bishop's weed to get at it -- and pretend you're in Provence. But now I want to start digging into those recipes that are being thrown at me from all directions, calling for eggplant and peppers and tomatoes, as if we have them, as if they're ripe.
There must be some inner emptiness in me I am trying to fill. (Just what I need, one more excuse to eat.)
Howard pointed out to me lastnight I am in a weird position. We are both grieving over losing Leonard Pennario. But Howard can take his mind off of him by touching up the bricks at Big Blue. Whereas I can't. I have to keep writing about him and thinking about him. Writing about Leonard is a mixed bag for me these days. Sometimes it makes me feel better and sometimes it makes me burst into tears. Like that Chinese kid Leonard and I saw in that restaurant. Ahahahahhaa!
This whole Pennario adventure, I would do it all over again in a second. There is that song by Edith Piaf. I wish I could write it in French but my French is awful. Pennario used to tease me about that. What did Piaf sing? I have no regrets.
Still, these are strange days.
I must have tomatoes, at once.