Anniversary Waltz

It hardly seems possible, but I was digging around the Archives this morning, and it turns out that today marks four years to the day since I thought it might be fun to have a blog.  It turns out it is.

The snap above isn't the Café Muscato - however much, I like to think, it may be evocative of the spirit of things hereabout - but rather a heartbreakingly beautiful little place outside Amsterdam that the Mister and I visited a few years ago.  I'm not much of a photographer, but I like its sense of possibility, of things being not quite ready for company (but plenty ready enough).

Pretty, I suppose.  Not, it seems, if audience stats are to be believed, what callers who stumble on the Café are looking for.  A review of the search terms that bring people here leads me to think that the ideal Café Muscato image would be a party snap in which Celia Hammond, Adrian Maulana, Marisa Berenson, Margaret, Duchess of Argyll, and Dee Dee Pfeiffer, one or more of them unclothed and/or engaged in uspeakable acts, are doing something involving "chic hairstyles," "White House redecorating," or, enigmatically "boom sha la la la la."

Failing that, I guess we'll just keep on going (barring the occasional interruption here and there) in the spirit of what came to mind on April 30, 2008: 

Why?

Because I said so. Because I blame it on the summer night...or the bossa nova. Because that's just the way the cookie crumbles. Because it's always something.

Why? Why the strange fascination with the films of Kay Francis? With the minutiae of forgotten mitteleuropean dynasties of the 19th century? With the old age of the Duchess of Windsor? With the youth of Tutankhamun? Why the all joy, the tears, the deep, abiding bemusement with the ways of the world?

Just one damn thing after another.

Just one damn thing after another; I still haven't come up with a better reason.