Margot, Marjorie, Ed

I was riding around the neighborhood, wishing I could just drop in on a friend for a meal. All day I’d been  trying to make paper doll of Charlie, with unimpressive results. Outside the Most Beautiful Day in Marin unfolded.

I thought about riding, but my legs are still spaghetti from jogging seven miles.

By six p.m.  I’d destroyed four pieces of nice watercolor paper and was ready to simply xerox a shot of CC holding a bike.  This is all for the SSWC09 magazine… I screwed up the eyes, blobbed ink all over the face, and practically threw in the towel.

So I rolled out into Fairfax  in search of food.  The warm air was a soup of pollens , my nose contributed continuous clear-running coulis.

By the time I reached Ed’s place ten blocks away, I  wished that nasal tampons had been invented.  (Cue music: “greensleeves”)

At Ed’s, I found wisteria dangling over the gate. Inside, I could tell there was cookery afoot and I gesticulated the international sign language for “is this a good time?”

I saw a thumbs-up.

Parked bike, doffed shoes (Zen households require this) and climbed the stairs into the den of the Tassajara baker. His apprentice Marjorie Wallace adeptly sliced away at the fennel, and took on the challenge of making ‘supremes’ of orange (take away all difficult white bits, leaving the mellow middle of the lovely fruit with no strings attached).

In the living room Margo Koch ( ‘cook’ in German) graded papers.


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