For some reason, these putti bottoms had me in hysterics last night. My son had to come and see what all the guffawing was about. Had his mother finally lost her last marble? Perhaps I'm slower than most, but even though I've long appreciated tortellini as pretty - sassy even, for pasta - I've never really given them a lot of thought. But last night I saw them differently; there they were, pert little buttocks (at least to start with) - sedere, posederas, zitvlak* - and I was delighted by them. The laughter started when I tossed them into the boiling water; how could I not have paid attention to them until last night?! Tears ran down my cheeks as I jiggled them loose in the saucepan and watched them soften and plump out. What a great metaphor, I thought... And all joy to them.
I found myself thinking what fun it could be to plaster tortellini bottoms onto the cornices of my studio where they'd add an interesting architectural feature for the hoardes of spiders who've taken up residence here over the years. They - the spiders (of whom I am most fond) - seem to have pulled out all their spinning stops lately as if they have a plan in mind. They're throwing threads out in all directions, linking one light shade to another, one rafter to the next... At the rate they're going, the ceiling space will be a lattice-work of silk trapezes by the time the weekend arrives. Between the spiders and the tortellini putti, my studio could resemble a rococo chapel by the time I turn fifty. Things could be a whole lot worse!
Summer bonnets for clothes peg dolls.
(Yes, yes, I know. . . it's time to stop mucking about and go and get some work done! *Please correct my translations if they need it?)
