To flute or to coupe one’s champagne? These are the contemplations on the Eve of the Eve. I do love these eves of the eve–always with the hope and excitement of an innocent. This year I woefully secured our New Year’s reservations months
To flute or to coupe one’s champagne? These are the contemplations on the Eve of the Eve. I do love these eves of the eve–always with the hope and excitement of an innocent. This year I woefully secured our New Year’s reservations months
I wish I could recapture a bit more from my child’s eye view of the large, Asian house. The memory is a tissue thin scrim of standing by the railed porch with my father and his friends, awaiting entrance to a blurred art opening. The ambiguous