A very self-indulgent afternoon

“She lies still, her eyes open, thinking. She is remembering the time when she was nine and took apart a jewelry box she loved, to see what made the ballerina turn around. Though she paid careful attention to each step, when she tried to reassemble it, it didn’t work the way it had before. No one else could fix it, either. The ballerina stayed in place, permanently turned away, oblivious to the music she had danced to before.”

That is one of the lines from Elizabeth Berg’s collection of short stories, Ordinary Life, that I would have underlined had I not been afraid of breaking the spell by digging around in my purse for a pen.I took that book to lunch, a two-hour lunch, at a restaurant near my house, where I sat alone at a sunny table in the bar, eating a seared salmon and strawberry spinach salad, creme brulee, and sipping what ended up being two glasses of sauvignon blanc. So indulgent.

The restaurant is the fourth that’s been in that building since I have lived in Franklin. I have loved all its predecessors, for the same reason – it is close, it has a sun deck, and bands that will take Steely Dan requests generally feel at home there certain nights.

In about 45 minutes, my daughter’s school bus will drop her off at our corner. Until then, I am in the perfect frame of mind to dive back into my own book.