after the last few busy days full of shopping (ugh) and seeing friends (yay!), I was able to set my props and enjoy most of the day at my new kitchen table. It's a bitty thing, only three feet by two foot but the kitchen is long and narrow and not big neither so it works. The table is old, from the 30's or 40's lets say and the top is metal with enamel over it. There's a bit to repair, where it looks like someone mistakenly placed a frying pan on it or something way too hot, but it's small and I'm pretty confident I can repair it. I heart this table and I have my good friend, Brit, to thank for helping me haul it home. It was a true flea market find (something I've heard talked about but rarely encounter) and I hope to visit the same sellers next month and perhaps pick up another piece of furniture. I'm a hopeless buyer of antiques and their painted antiques work for me! All the furniture they sold seemed good and solid and for excellent prices as well. Better prices than even the resale shops around here! This area is just far too expensive, I think.
I've enjoyed this gloomy day with my grape hyacinths (muscari if you really want), puzzled over a recent film adaptation of a Balzac novel, "The Duchess of Langeais" I viewed last night, read at a novel and generally just wrote away. Though not fiction. Not today. That's something I've got in the back of my head, sifting through. How much can a character be yourself? That's the genius of fiction though. There's no rules in that department. I think this time though…I made the main character do something too like me and for that, her voice may have hesitated and then slumped.
Tonight is PBS and Kate Beckingsdale in "Emma" and guess what? I can watch tv right from the kitchen table.