Love, sorrow and goat cheese

I'm in love.

Yes, yes, I'm in love with my wonderful husband of three years, but I'm also in love with the restaurant we went to last night for our anniversary dinner. Really, I would marry it. You know, if it wasn't for my actual husband and the fact that you can't marry a place. At least not legally.

Maybe it's just because we were long overdue for a romantic night out together, or maybe it was the heady excitement of actually getting out of the house after being sick as a dog most of last week. I don't know, but whatever the case I swear I could have sat there all night being served plate after plate of rich food, each dish more fattening and decadent than the last. The wine didn't hurt either. Neither did being able to look across the table into the face of the man I love. God, it doesn't get any better than that.

I didn't want the night to end. It was blissful, and being in a state of utter bliss is now something I treasure more than gold.

Sorrow gives you that gift. It opens your eyes to the smallest pleasures that you once took for granted. Like being happy.

I'm not for a second saying that I wouldn't quite happily exchange that gift for my Thomas in a heartbeat, but since I know that's not possible, I'm glad that at least sorrow has left me something besides the scars that I know are never going to fully heal. It has given me new eyes and a softer heart. And I have no choice but to be grateful for that.

I'm also immensely grateful for Oliver's goat cheese fondue in rosemary phyllo cups with pan-seared smoked bacon bits.

OOooooooh yes, I'm VERY grateful for that.