She asked me what my passions are, where I find beauty, what I do for fun. Listed some

choices—music, poetry, art, cooking, dancing, nature. Playing word games on my phone,

watching Golden Girls reruns and eating Cheetos with a spoon were alarmingly absent.

I was flummoxed. I love the word flummoxed. It’s so expressive, you can feel yourself

bumbling around in it. I suppose I find beauty in words. Not quixotic though. There’s an

unsettling sense of dissonance between the sound and the meaning of that one. It’ll trick you.

Soup is cooking on the stove. Carrots, celery, parsley, onions simmering to make a fine

broth. It’ll become my childhood cabbage soup with beluga lentils for New Year’s Eve dinner.

They’ll be soba noodles too. We include them for longevity. I love soba noodles so I’m all in on

that. And greens for dollars. Red grapes for good luck. Later, we’ll eat soup so voraciously that

we’ll break out in a sweat. So, this morning, cooking soup is my passion.

I’m a tiny bit obsessed with the original cast recording of The Secret Garden. The beauty

of that can make you weep.

In an hour or so I’ll go on up to the beach, skipping, tripping, bouncing on the balls of my

feet to the sound of “Dance Monkey.” Maybe not a beautiful song, but definitely one that

inspires joy. Feral cats will greet me along the way. I’ll walk along the water’s edge, turquoise

ocean shimmering with otherworldly beauty.

The air is moist, salty. Weather changes abruptly, pouring rain, sunny a moment later.

Puddles, steamy, evaporate off sidewalks and streets, emitting a distinctive smell like no other.

My passions have changed over the years. When I was little, at the beginning of the

summer, I delighted in the first bite of a dipped cone, chocolate still soft and warm over frozen

custard. Definitely a passion for a little girl before she grew older and others set in.

I loved dancing into the wee hours in St. Thomas, reveling in the sultry night air, drinking

Sambuca, Frangelico, or some other horridly sweet liqueur. Talking about everything or nothing

for hours.

But that was years ago. Now writing this is my passion. That’s my passion in this

moment.

Later, I’ll take a shower and the hot water streaming down my back will be heavenly.

Does that count?

Moss Piglet, January 2023