Cooking is my therapy. How did I only realise this now?
Our recital went really well this evening. It was such a scratch concert but it felt great to play again, and to hear the rest of the committee play, and to be reminded why we go through all this hassle of endless discussing and planning and organising. In the best moments I missed Charles a lot, because this was what he was about, and he would have laughed as hard as I did at the truly amazing Wallisisms (“This is a piece about flirting and death”), and our very rude madrigal about “bonking” and he would have loved Alex’s Debussy and Gershwin.
So the recital was heartwarming and beautiful, and afterwards we moved en masse to the bar and Matt and I spent two hours sitting at the same table talking to everyone except each other. I have never missed him more than when he was sitting right across from me, telling other people those things I never paid much attention to. When I got back this evening I was expecting to have a therapeutic weep, only, once I was finally alone I realised I was kindof hungry and made dinner instead. (lol priorities.) I chopped a pepper, an onion and some mushrooms, I opened a can of tomatoes and green pesto, and I put them all in the slow cooker on high for an hour. As soon as I was finished, I found I was okay again.
I wanted to share this. It should be done by now so I’ll go fetch it and finish watching Grey’s Anatomy and think about the things I love. Especially mushrooms.
Ridiculously good-looking friend got into Cambridge.