Dear friends, I have been uncharacteristically low-key this month, and for this, I apologize. It's not any of the usual suspects, namely overwork, fatigue, illness, egg research, travel, a vigorous social schedule or the Existentialism Virus. I've not been feeling particularly bad, nor am I wrestling with that old demon writer's block; there is plenty to write about, and I am as eager to write about it as ever I was, so why I seem to have so much trouble getting the words out is puzzling. One of my office pals has suggested that my new adventures in sock knitting, started under the tutelage of one of my dearest friends, has cut into my writing/baking/research time, but I have found that, if anything, I work better, write faster, and think more clearly after working on a sock for an hour or so. I am continuing my research on the egg book, preparing a section of it for possible presentation at the Oxford Symposium of Food and Cookery, and preparing also for a series of five cooking lessons for my brother and sister-in-law, for which we've been trying to set aside time for years, and yet, I don't feel pressed for time, or overtaxed. I am not sad, angry, depressed, exhausted or existential. I am something I have never been in my life: quiet.
Since this is not a normal state of being for me (not for nothing was I called "Jabberjaw" as a kid), I'm sure it will pass quickly, maybe even by tomorrow, and I'll have some nifty, pointless stories to tell. Please, friends, bear with me for a bit longer.