Remember all those oysters shells I collected throughout July for Second Seating's 'Bayou, Bay, Beach' dinner table? Yes, those oyster shells, the hundreds that are being cleaned and bleached by natural means out behind my garage. I keep going out to the oyster pile with a colander to look for the prettiest, the best shells. I bring a dozen or two back into my kitchen, scrub them in the sink with warm soapy water and set them all over the counter to dry.
A couple of days ago, I wrote words on a dozen shells. Just to see. I really liked the shells with their golden words. In fact, I wondered what it would be like to be served a platter of fresh oysters, discovering words in gold as one oyster after another filled my mouth with their briney sea taste.
Have raw oysters ever been served that way? Could one do this for a dinner party?
Tonight, I wrote with gold paint on all the dozens of oyster shells on my kitchen counter. Simple words. Mostly 'yes' and 'love' and a few 'perhaps' and 'kisses.'
The repetition of writing the word 'yes' was a positive thing. It ended up being a yes to life itself.
Yes, yes, yes. And a little love while we're at it.