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Roasted fingerlings, new potatoes and winter squash on baby salad greens. |
After a long and restless night I am pondering potato salad and glitter. Sleep deprivation may be less than pleasant but it often breaks loose the inertia of stalled imagination (who among us has the power of will to maintain the status quo of the literal linear world after a scant teaspoon of sleep?). In my experience it is not prudent to ignore gifts of associative flight and whimsy. If one begins threading fingerling potatoes with the sequins of burlesque I say, go for it.
You never know when such a spinning, sparkling muse will visit again.
It all started with a documentary (on Showtime last night) about the seventies balladeer Paul Williams- a touching story of fame, hunger, redemption and purpose (titled Paul Williams Still Alive because the documentarian had assumed he was dead) that- almost by accident- reveals Paul's award-garnering talent for writing sweet and soulful songs was never balm enough for his childhood wounds. Like so many artists snagged in the media-fueled web of fame + addiction, Paul's appetite for approval trumped all (imagine the tune-smith who wrote Rainbow Connection in an absurdly surreal TV shoot out with sexy Police Woman, Angie Dickinson). Until he got sober.
And redefined success on his own terms.
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