Promised rain and chilly temperatures came to my corner of New England today, and so I did the only reasonable thing under the circumstances.  The season’s first pot of chili now sits on my stove.  My little loft has been filled variously with the earthy aroma of boiling Mung and Azuki beans (gifts from Handsome Chef Boyfriend), sweet, caramelized red onions, and now the mainly finished product; the predominant smell is lovely, smoky paprika.  This will change over days as the flavors commingle the way they do in soups and stews.  This particular chili happens to be a vegetarian one I love but have not made for a while; it feels appropriate for early fall.

HCB arrived here after work on Friday night loaded down with bags of yummy things which morphed into a gorgeous dinner.  He shooed me away the second I started peeking into grocery bags and was not exactly cooperative when I attempted to photograph him cooking.  Here is what I managed to capture:

Yes, really.  He was still wearing his chef’s scrubs from the work day, and busily trying to get dinner on the table for two very tired working people. The result was a lovely piece of cod with fresh salsa, asparagus and couscous:

I love food as art.  Come to think of it, I love food, period.

We had a beautiful Saturday after HCB managed to move firewood onto my porch from elsewhere on the property in stealth mode while I was showering.  Clarence-the-canine was his companion during this Manly Vermont Guy work and thoroughly enjoyed his outside time.  Lately Clarence has shown himself trustworthy off leash, and this has given him the chance to really run at a time when my work schedule does not leave us many windows of opportunity as it once did.  Another transition we are still navigating.

Afterwards we took the scenic route into nearby Norwich where we had a serendipitous encounter with two complete strangers who were curious about HCB’s shirt (one I gave him bedecked with the logo of my former ballet school in Knoxville).  We ended up eating lunch with them at King Arthur Flour.  Interesting folks.

Thence to knock around some golf balls at the driving range, where I stepped (way) outside my comfort zone and behaved as I did when I was a kid in ballet class and did not pick up new steps and vocabulary instantly.  Hint:  I was thrown out of class more than once on these occasions.  Sigh.  Another character flaw.  HCB, on the other hand, plays brilliantly and knocked one after another ball out of the county with the incredible club he found recently for a buck on one of our flea marketing outings.  Mad cooking skillz, mad golf skillz.  As they say.

We finished our trolling around time over in New Hampshire at an Italian restaurant where HCB’s eldest works as a (you guessed it) chef.  We had a pizza that was so wicked I do not even care to share with anybody what was on it, and we pretty much rolled ourselves out to the car to head home.

I have been charmed these last days by this flash mob created by two people whom I consider my mentors at the Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis School at American Ballet Theatre.  Flash mobs seem to be everywhere now, and so the sheen has worn off them as happens when something once rare becomes common.  This one, though, is special.  Take a gander.  (Dancers are JKO students and/or members of ABT’s studio company; choreography by Raymond Lukens and Franco De Vita)

I mention this because I am thinking about so many things to do with the future, thinking about how much time and effort I have invested in learning classical ballet pedagogy from two of the most iconic ballet figures in the land, thinking about how badly I want to stay in that world. This beautiful little piece of work has been the soundtrack for reflection this week; big decisions in the coming week.