Feather Report

If you are craving a heavy, hearty post full of philosophical flavor and existential spice, pick another cyber cafe now. Because I've spent all week editing my book manuscript, inhaling countless literary calories, and I am positively stuffed. So I'm in the mood for a dainty, superficial snack. And it just so happens that I am the cook in this kitchen. So today will be a light bite. Feather light. Bon appetit.

I'm in love. Yes, with Husband. Yes, with my beautiful babies. Yes, with my cats. But now with something else too: a vast white feather ball chandelier. See above for a depiction of this glorious and indulgent object. You see, the Happy Headache (a.k.a. the untimely-given-this-recession-but-I'm-not-going-to-complain-about-the-DOW-being-above-9000-gut-reno of our new place) is really happening. The steel supports for future walls are up. And the contractors are begging us to designate specific light fixtures because they will run the electricity through those future walls soon. So. Enter vast white feather ball chandelier. Yum.

Of course I have to fall in love with a vast white feather ball. That is not cheap. I asked if it emits a lot of light. "Not really," said the person who knows more than I do about chandeliers made of feathers. Hmmm. I asked if I could see it in person. "No, you can't," said the feather ball expert. You would think these answers would dissuade me, would make me lose interest. But no. It is as if that ethereal white wonder is playing hard to get. Not calling me back. Acting like a player. Flirting with other buyers. And now I want it even more. Desperately. Obsessively.

What to do? Commit to the wispy white creature who is dodging my advances? Or summon the practicality that lurks deep within my fabulous, frivolous, feather-loving core?