ToesThere is a lamp, built into the newell post of the staircase. It used to have an incandescent bulb in there, holding up the wire clips and the simple paper shade. Throwing the switch at night, that one little bulb filled up the foyer with cozy, warm light, tickling notes from the woodwork. There has been a slow steady invasion of CFL in the house, though, and it seemed time to do away with the old and usher in new. I put one on the newell post, and have been taking notes.
It's slow to come to life, the CFL. Upon throwing the switch now the bulb starts timid, casting a low glow that makes the space close. If I did not know the promise of the light to come, I would not like it, but I find the effect of cold engines coming slowly to life not unpleasant. When the bulb finally manages to wake up and stretch, the full effect returns, if perhaps a little bit less warm, but no less cheerful. I can flip the switch when I go to buy milk and return to a welcoming door.
Down at the markets, there is a baker who sets up shop on folding tables, heavy with wonderful things. To one side are simple bags of biscotti bits, broken pieces, ends, that sort of thing. I try to pick up a bag or two, when I go: they make for a remarkable bread pudding. I mentioned this, and they said, sure: people also grind them up and use them for pie crusts (which I must try) and fish batter (which I must try). It is also great fun to just reach into the bag and pull out a few to munch on - as the bag is mixed, one never knows what one will get until it breaks against the teeth.
Stretch your toes, as far as they will go: there is a pot of cocoa on the stove.
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