Paula Dean said on a recent show that the feeling you get from eating chocolate is the same feeling you get from falling in love. Hmmm--food for thought, especially for a chocaholic. But I'd been thinking about love the other day and the fact that in my life there've been three men I was really in love with. Okay, one is my ex, but one of the others was before and the other was after and both of them stand out more in my memory now than the good days with the ex. Doesn't take a genius to figure out that bad times cancel good. But I was thinking, without a lot of regret, that those days are behind me, that kind of passionate, all-consuming love doesn't come when you're seventy. And maybe that's okay--my hormones aren't raging any more, and I have some wonderful memories. And I can always eat chocolate and test the theory.
I'm supposed to be proof-reading but I have managed to kind of piddle away the day. I did have a yoga lesson and Elizabeth, my student-turned-teacher, said frequently, "Very nice. You've been practicing." And indeed I have. My down dog was good today. I can't remember the other thing that elicited that practicing comment, but I was as proud as a third-grader who brought home an E for excellent. But I've spent much of the day with a Lillian Stewart Carl Scottish mystery, The Secret Portrait. It's basically about an American who has deluded himself to think he's the inheritor of Bonnie Prince Charlies' claim to the throne--and it's none too complimentary about Charlie's delusions of grandeur which cost many Highlanders their lives. I did a quick bit of research and found that my clan, the MacBains, were among Charlie's supporters. I presume a bunch of them died on the field. I'll have to go back and look because I know there was one MacBain (Red MacBean?) who covered himself with glory but I think it was an earlier battle, perhaps Stirling Bridge. Then I got a mailing from Clan MacBean today and it occurred to me I ought to enroll my oldest son in the clan. He, who wants to go to Scotland with me, is the obvious inheritor of the Scottish tradition in the family.
I also whiled away the time taking an appetizer to Jeannie, so we could sit on the patio over wine. She's one of the few people I know who appreciates pickled herring like I do. I bought a jar on impulse this morning in Central Market and we sat there saying, "That's so good!" I left the jar and crackers, so I can go back tomorrow and have more, when I take them dinner. I came home tonight and fixed myself Dover sole--the most delicate delicious fish I know. I floured it lightly sauteed it and then dressed it with a butter/lemon sauce. It was lovely, accompanied by fresh asparagus.
But now I ought to get to proofing. You know what? I have to finish that mystery first.