Ex-husbands and bouillabaisse

What is it with ex-husbands? Despite normally maintaining a good relationship, which I always believe to be in the best interest of any children involved, occasionally things go pear-shaped. I have never really taken to his new girlfriend, however as she is his date not mine, it doesn’t really concern me. Yesterday I rang him to discuss a matter about our daughter, and instead was berated about my behavior towards his girlfriend. Yes I am a bit cool towards her, but I am civil. I don’t need to be best friends, and anything more would be fake, if not down-right creepy. Fortunately our paths rarely cross. It is as if the ex needs me to play the role of evil ex-wife in order to feel better about himself, sanction his choice of girlfriend, complain about to his friends, and to justify his actions. My guess is that he resents that I don’t actually need him, and have looked after myself and our daughter with very little emotional or financial assistance from him.

My favourite way to deal with stress (other than a weekend away with a gorgeous man!), is to cook. After the diatribe from the ex, I set about making bouillabaisse. The more involved the better, I find. Digging out an ancient Elizabeth David French cookbook, the rest of the morning was spent making fish stock. In the afternoon I set about making a fantastic rouille, and the actual soup itself. The teenager and I dined like kings, and even the cat was pretty happy. After which we went to see Vicky Cristina Barcelona, which I loved, although the teenager was more critical. Some of the characters were possibly a bit too close to home?

I am reading a great book about the history of colour, titled Colour, Travels Through the Paintbox, by Victoria Finlay. Really interesting stories of the history of pigments that I recommend to anyone interested in art, regardless of whether they are a practitioner or not. I’m also reading Eat, Love, Pray which seems to be a current best-seller, but perfect bedtime reading.

The other side of the bed remains empty, and the one man that interests me remains emotionally unavailable. I have been trying to date others, but it’s difficult (and probably unfair) not to compare them, and inevitably find them lacking. Yes my selection criteria is set on high, but it’s not unrealistic, and I really don’t feel inclined to settle for any less. I know a lot of women my age who feel the same, but I am also scared by the bicycle-riding, hippy-skirted, mung-bean eating, grey-haired women who carry the air of having moved on, and feel better off without a man. Please God do NOT let me become one of them.

Back to the paintbrush.