saturday, they created a sense of 'clean', of 'newness'. while a playlist of happy, mellow music filled the home, they wiped and swept and tidied. they are minimalists, keeping only the few possessions that they truly need and love. they purged, they rearranged, they cut fresh flowers for the vase on the table. they rotated the candles from room to room, moved the stalks of cotton to the other side of the sink, and pushed the sofa under the window, amazed at how small changes breathe life into a space. they created a space that felt more polished, more mature and even more reflective of themselves, of who they are. between the scrubbing and the lifting, there were many cups of tea sipped at the window with incredulous comments about the heavy rain and thick hail. they were grateful to be inside, to be warm and dry. she took a break and sank into their white armchair and surveyed their home, their life. she wondered what her younger self would make of all of this. she took herself back to the first months of her relationship with her love, when she was seventeen, having just moved to university dorm and begun her life on her own. she looked at her present life through those seventeen year old eyes and was amazed... she saw a modern, gourmet kitchen with the kitchenaid stand mixer in which to make cakes. she looked down and saw a classic and understated tiffany & co. solitaire diamond sparkling on her left hand, and a wedding band to match, meaning she had married the love of her life. she saw a home filled with striped silk textiles, with black and white photography framed, with chanel no. five, with a front loading washer and dryer - details that would have spoken to her young self of elegance and luxury and independence. she noticed the photographs of europe, of the eiffel tower: we've been to paris, she smiled. she wondered why there were no bibles to be found. she was curious if there was a significance to the tibetan statue in the bedroom, yet she admired the global aesthetic. she saw ingredients that she'd never heard of, technology that had yet to be invented. in her closet, only one item, a printed a-line skirt, was familiar, while every other hanger held a piece that was new and neutral-toned and luxe; designer pieces held her attention. the tin of white jasmine tea, silk sachets filled with pearls of tea, seemed so beautiful. yet, she was still drinking jasmine tea, with a little splash of milk and a teaspoon of honey, the way that she always had. and her love, he looked different, yet he had the same heart and the same adoration for her. observe the wonders as they occur around you. don't claim them. feel the artistry moving through and be silent (rumi). the revelation of the sights of her young eyes gave her a sense of accomplishment, of appreciation, of insight. in the evening, the sun had set early behind the dark prussian blue skies, and they steamed brown basmati rice, rich and aromatic with garlic cloves, cumin, turmeric, saffron and cardamom pods. the fragrant, woody and spicy scent filled the kitchen and poured into the rest of the flat while he read to her. he picked up the 1896 edition of sonnets by elizabeth barrett browning that he had found for her in a used bookshop in edinburgh, her first anniversary gift, made of the traditional 'paper'. he read sonnets of love while vanilla candles flickered and cast light around the walls. she listened, and relaxed into the sound of his voice, occasionally stumbling on the rhythm of the poetry. when the rice was nearly cooked, they steamed broccoli with lemon, roasted carrots with sea salt and pan-fried filets of basa marinated in garlic. she hoped that the coming days might bring sunlight, and she hoped that the coming days would be filled again with more poetry. both that he would read to her, and that they fill their lives with the romantic and the mundane moments that create a poetic living.
sunday, her love slept late. she woke hours before him and took the quiet moments in bed to peruse inspiration. exposed brick and sequins and soft hues and tulle and travels in morocco. she prepared foamy lattes in the kitchen, careful not to wake him, and brought them to bed with breakfast atop a large bamboo board. he read, she wrote. they called their mothers to wish them a day of joy and celebration, to appreciate their years of bringing up children. his mother, having just returned from a holiday in africa, told them stories of elephant rides and victoria falls and safaris and the sweetest babe that they miss. she longed for a holiday in africa soon. she wrapped herself in a white trench coat, he in a black knitted sweater with tortoise shell buttons. they visited commune cafe. he read, she wrote.on the way home, they stopped at the market, the one that plays the jazz music, and they filled a basket with kale and lemons and chorizo. she chose a thick and fruity olive oil from new zealand with a minimal and witty label, as well as a bundle of wildflowers. at home, she baked kale chips, crisp and earthy, while he prepared a meal. simple, slow, rhythmic, sharing the space in the kitchen together, spreading their ingredients out on the large island. they savored rosemary & golden rum granita, hand made with fresh herbs from his sister's garden. beautiful, all at once warming and cooling, sweet and herbaceous. it was a quiet evening, reveling in the beauty of the home, of the flavors of the world, of their life together.
