out into the city

Yesterday, after writing at length in my journal about a matter to be set in as a post at another blog, I headed out into the city. I needed to shop for some items I will be using in conjunction with this blog. On the city transit, to go out for any reason is a full day endeavor, but with the holiday, I had a three-day weekend, which, in theory, gave me two days yet to write.

So my one stop planned to a local Salvation Army I discovered not so far (in city terms) from my apartment a few weeks ago could be (and was) undertaken with much relish. Ended up waiting an hour after I got to Five Points on the train, and paced through most of it. An interesting couple came up a few minutes before the bus finally arrived. He was a redhead, and carried a much-used red sleeping bag rolled up (without, I noted, folding it in half, lengthwise, before he rolled) and carried on his back.

Both the young man and the girl carried knapsacks and were dressed in bright smiles and road rags. Seemed fresh for the journey and quite at ease. The girl waved another bus down when she saw a man running as if his life would end to catch it. Having sat there for a good ten minutes, it was not mindful to stopping for a latecomer. But did.

I thought of asking to photograph and interview them but fortunately the bus arrived before I could do more than dream of being that sort of woman. But then, on the bus, ended up having a most delightful chat with a young Georgia Tech grad student from China, who has been in Atlanta since August. We got off at the same stop then headed in different directions.

I had already done some preliminary shopping toward my new idea of posting recipes herein; I think it was last week that I stopped by Pier One (my disposable income is mere trifle, but that is another story), where a great many pieces were 75% off. I have a plan in mind to continue adding pieces to my idea, but in that cautious manner that a discipline of poverty (whether intentional or set upon one by circumstance) demands.

Living most cautiously, to be sure, can allow a careful consumption, outside of the stark necessities of a small life. I am collecting odd plates and bowls and serving pieces, and have a new place mat, napkin and even a napkin ring in which to make most bright and lovely (and deliciously mismatched) place settings.

To be sure, each will be a special event.

'Everyday' will remain plain brown Wren. Which tends to be very used Pfaltzgraff (or some odd pieces of hotel white from when Borders changed cafes—that would be before they bottomed up—and gave the old settings to whoever wanted). I have an odd collection of thrift store place mats that I set on a bamboo tray, then I typically grab a paper towel rather than a dinner napkin (and these would be paper) then head to my bed.

My apartment is too small for a table and chairs, although I have long thought I could set one of those three piece cafe sets in the bedroom, just off the kitchen...

A tiled set, with the high bar chairs...

Or I could completely upend my computer and work area, moving it to the bedroom (which is very large) and set the tiled cafe table that I dream of buying in the living room...

In any case, all is dream. Three years now of dream!

More often than not, every day moves me to consider leftovers put up if they are set into the fridge in the pan in which I cooked them, and really, lid is optional.

You probably didn't need to hear that, and can likely see why a little bit of special is most needful.

And why it should be a special that is special indeed!

And resplendent in an overflow that will affect not only how I eat but what I eat, set as I am now on finding recipes again—too, it will spill over into many places, the global of which does not stop at 'taking better care of myself.'

But goes into that place wherein the very spirit is nourished.

Because...

That thing of joy...

I stopped to photograph the new pieces this afternoon as they sat on my coffee table (which was badly in need of a wash) in the sun. Here is a cropped photo of some of them, still with their thrift store tags (the napkin ring sports its 'brand new' tag from Pier One) and deeper in shadow than such bright sunlight would have suggested.

I don't know what the little square plates are but assume maybe an olive plate or tapas.

Which, to be sure, is the same thing. More or less. But—I am playing house now, so can call them whatever my wee heart shall choose. And use them thusly! However I choose!

Ah, such freedom, there 'midst all the loveliness.