I've had a quiet kind of weekend. I'm trying not to spend a lot of money these days, so I've been avoid the stores. And TIFF is on right now too, so I'm staying away from the hoi-polloi. I had to cover the lounges a couple of years ago and that pretty much sapped me of any appetite for film-festing. I don't know how people do it year in, year out and take my hat off to them!
I finished two books in the last few days (book reports coming next week) and watched some movies too. Tonight, my friend Laura is coming over, so I'm baking some madeleines for us! I can never resist dipping into Proust as I make them...
"She sent for one of those squat, plump little cakes called "petites madeleines," which look as though they had been moulded in the fluted valve of a scallop shell. And soon, mechanically, dispirited after a dreary day with the prospect of a depressing morrow, I raised to my lips a spoonful of the tea in which I had soaked a morsel of the cake. No sooner had the warm liquid mixed with the crumbs touched my palate than a shudder ran through me and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary thing that was happening to me. An exquisite pleasure had invaded my senses, something isolated, detached, with no suggestion of its origin. And at once the vicissitudes of life had become indifferent to me, its disasters innocuous, its brevity illusory - this new sensation having had on me the effect which love has of filling me with a precious essence; or rather this essence was not in me it was me"
From Remembrance of Things Past. Volume 1: Swann's Way: Within a Budding Grove.
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