The 12 Days of Christmas

The foreshadowing of the last post says it all: "Comforted by the fountain down the street."

I wasn't even consciously aware that I was in need of comfort at that point. In hindsight, the barely perceptible chill on the first day that had my sweet little nose running like that comforting fountain on the second, and had put a drag in my step by the third, had me down for the count for 12 days of Christmas.

I've been sick. Sick enough to have been wearing my flannel baggy pajama pants when I shot that last shot posted on 3 December.

Not even sunset yet. Flannel.Pajama.Pants.

Sick, I'm telling you.

But now, after a full (and disciplined, thank you very much) regimen of kick-ass antibiotics, an expectorant (Too much information? Sorry.), cough syrup and a short run of cortisone to assist with that thing most of us know as "breathing", I must say, I’m feeling much better. Thank you.

And here’s the thing: As I began to stir from what felt like a Rip Van Winkle-type of sleeping pattern during those twelve days, I was a little clearer - on many levels.

I've been hinting at a transition for this blog for weeks now but have been feeling quite caught. A change was called for but nothing was making itself known to me. I'm not easy to discourage but this catch had me paralyzed.

Actually La Fourchette was started as a draft of sorts. A receptacle for the stories in my little French life that had been accumulating. One day the posts would stack up and look like a book in the spirit of Susan Hermann Loomis' On Rue Tatin or Frances Mayes' Under the Tuscan Sun. Recipes incorporated into my story just as they are into my life. But really, as I looked around, it's been done.

And done.

And done.

It's still being done. At this point, the genre is so done it’s looking kind of crispy around the edges. So there was that.

Then there’s this public aspect of a blog. I mean really?! Who puts their draft out for the world to see while it's in process?!

I was going to have to rethink this whole thing.

As I made the freefall into the state of transition, I entertained the idea of a more political bent à la Slow Food. Perhaps a comparison of sorts between what's going on in the US and France, with regard to good, clean, fair food. (God knows, we've really got to start paying attention to this one, people.) But did I want to step into that?

No. Too much flannel. (I don’t know what it is with me and flannel.)

During some fevered bout of discouragement, I even considered hanging up a "Gone Fishin' " sign over the oven.

And then, I tell you, there was this clearing as I was returning to a healthy state that just happened. The "up-at-4-in-the-morning-to-draft-a-post" kind of "happened".

I'll roll the plan out a bit at a time and by January a schedule should begin to emerge. I hope to be able to stick to it. We shall see. No promises. There's plenty of other stuff that got clear that needs my attention, too. I'll do my best.

So, welcome to The Transition. (Seems to be the season for such things. I’m in good company, doncha think?!)

For the faithful peeps who have been showing up - n'importe quoi (no matter what) - week after week: Wow! Thank you. I could get all Sally Fields about it but I'll leave it there: Thank you. Not to worry with these changes. You'll still get your recipes, photos, reports from the 'hood. I'm cracking it all open and seeing what's been forming in spite of my intentions.

Join the tribe and, if you feel so inclined, make yourself known with a "Lovely Comment".

I want to know who you are.

I want to know what you eat.

I want to know why you read this blog.

If your interest is piqued, subscribe and follow along. I'm thinking it's going to be kind of fun. I sense there's something cookin' here! We'll figure it out together.

Ciao!
Leslie