Fe: Thank you for the gift that the world of your writing is.
Walking the humid night streets of Santa Monica, CA. Young people out everywhere. The sounds of surf culture brimming, young girls walking the night streets barefoot, like the city was still their beach.
I was hungry after a 12 hour workout of shopping, chopping, prepping, cooking — keeping the nervous bride to be and her husband calm and reassured while I worked like a dog getting the items I needed done cooked and to schedule. I pulled myself out of bed dragged myself to the shower, fluffed the hair, used some very big turquoise Indian wedding earrings that went down to my shoulders and put on a curvy dress with a duster made of black negligee material. Since my back ached and my feet felt like Christ’s after he was nailed on the cross, I was using my flip flops.
The Spanish tapas place that I was considering first was overflowing, so they recommended me to a French bistro two doors down. The hostess, very young and very French took one look at my sandals and then back at me. The judgment was hushed. Then they asked if I had a reservation. I asked for any seat available — one at the bar looked just fine to me. Wish granted.
It was 8:30 at night and I didn’t want a big meal. More work at the catering gig tomorrow, didn’t want to feel queasy. But something in my stomach was definitely needed. So it was champagne and foie gras on a slice of curried banana walnut bread with Muscat sauce and raisins. Suddenly my feet didn’t hurt and neither did my back. The sensual pleasure was overwhelming, like eating buttered silk on crispy sweet, spicy buttered toast. And the champagne was crisp, with body, and served well as companion and chaser. It was a small feast, but it was perfect. I gave my waitress a very nice tip.
I felt revived and alive, being cared for after a long grueling day of working hard to nurture others. I found my body again, belonging to me. I was giving it a gift of pleasure.
If you’re wondering why I write this in response to your work, I look at your pictures and the bodies and faces of these young women, and I wonder. Do they know what a gift the world of their flesh is? Do they relish and realize how incredible your body is? Do they consider their bodies theirs? Do they know how to pleasure it with freedom and love and consciousness?
As a woman who has lived awhile, living well, working hard and taking ease is a pleasure I afford myself. The pleasure of being alive in this very uncertain world.
Fe: Thank you for the gift that the world of your writing is.
Walking the humid night streets of Santa Monica, CA. Young people out everywhere. The sounds of surf culture brimming, young girls walking the night streets barefoot, like the city was still their beach.
I was hungry after a 12 hour workout of shopping, chopping, prepping, cooking — keeping the nervous bride to be and her husband calm and reassured while I worked like a dog getting the items I needed done cooked and to schedule. I pulled myself out of bed dragged myself to the shower, fluffed the hair, used some very big turquoise Indian wedding earrings that went down to my shoulders and put on a curvy dress with a duster made of black negligee material. Since my back ached and my feet felt like Christ’s after he was nailed on the cross, I was using my flip flops.
The Spanish tapas place that I was considering first was overflowing, so they recommended me to a French bistro two doors down. The hostess, very young and very French took one look at my sandals and then back at me. The judgment was hushed. Then they asked if I had a reservation. I asked for any seat available — one at the bar looked just fine to me. Wish granted.
It was 8:30 at night and I didn’t want a big meal. More work at the catering gig tomorrow, didn’t want to feel queasy. But something in my stomach was definitely needed. So it was champagne and foie gras on a slice of curried banana walnut bread with Muscat sauce and raisins. Suddenly my feet didn’t hurt and neither did my back. The sensual pleasure was overwhelming, like eating buttered silk on crispy sweet, spicy buttered toast. And the champagne was crisp, with body, and served well as companion and chaser. It was a small feast, but it was perfect. I gave my waitress a very nice tip.
I felt revived and alive, being cared for after a long grueling day of working hard to nurture others. I found my body again, belonging to me. I was giving it a gift of pleasure.
If you’re wondering why I write this in response to your work, I look at your pictures and the bodies and faces of these young women, and I wonder. Do they know what a gift the world of their flesh is? Do they relish and realize how incredible your body is? Do they consider their bodies theirs? Do they know how to pleasure it with freedom and love and consciousness?
As a woman who has lived awhile, living well, working hard and taking ease is a pleasure I afford myself. The pleasure of being alive in this very uncertain world.