My own copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking arrived today, a set that perhaps inadvertently triggered my determination to set up a disciplined writing structure.
I have no great desire to set about cooking my way through Quenelles aux Huitres towards the towering achievement of Pate de Canard en Croute and on to the Cinq Gateaux section where glazes and creams abound. I am willing, even eager to learn a thing or two from this fine cook but judging from the recent movie, she has much to teach women about living a good life and nurturing a fine and happy marriage.
She landed in an unfamiliar city (Paris) and once she became at ease with the sheer beauty of the place, and applied her friendly manners to one and all, set about finding something useful to do which is not all that extraordinary: everyone, other than the terminally self-involved, likes to feel useful. What sets her apart, I think was that along with useful, she demanded that this thing be something she loved, woke up in the morning and leapt out of bed to get her mitts on, lived, breathed, lay in bed scheming over. That's the real prize.
I should do well in my search. Certainly I have all the right tools: time, energy, a library to make thousands envious, health, abilities, a belief in my fledging talents.
Note to self: get out of the Thursday afternoon hat making classes (see "Julie and Julia" for reference to hat classes) and get a move on.
First step: clear out the reams of clutter; perhaps under all the muck is the passion.
Second step : get to work — yes, you.
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The photo above is of my grandson Andy, aged five, a man who clearly understands passion.
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