Melville has a pantry.
It's a cute pantry. A little three-foot-by-three-foot sort of job, in the corner between the fridge and the stove. Since Christmas, it has held not only our food stuffs--scattered on shelves and floor--but also a small Reija-made painting of a ship and a great white whale. In honor of Mr. Melville and the name he contributed to our street and, derivatively, to our house.
The success of the pantry is its slimness, its size of two-peopleness, its folding blue door that allows someone(s) to enclose themselves in the pantry. Shut off from the kitchen. Alone for a moment. With the cake mixes and the sugar and the syrup--and with each other. The makings of many sweet things.
The pantry. Place where Melvillain dreams have come true.
I have one week left (before I move) for it to happen for me. I'm ready, and I believe.