In November 2008 my daughter wrote to me about LaDuree at Harrod's. Her actual move to London was different than she had anticipated. More challenging, less profitable. And I missed her more than I imagined possible. My heart strings were stretched to their limit and I lay awake at night, listening for her psychic voice whispering across the miles of ocean. I stalked the LaDuree website constructing a new order each day, working my way through the entire menu. I described the weather and the circumstances of my meal on this blog, convincing many readers that I was actually writing from factual experience rather than my over-active imagination . This exercise was my way of dealing with my desire to participate in her experience without wanting to live it for her or influence her decisions. Mid February I boarded a plane, crossed the Atlantic and floated through the Heathrow gates to her smiling face. She carried herself with complete confidence, directing me to purchase an Oyster card. In no time at all I found myself holding a plate of chocolate hazelnut praline cake, sipping jasmine tea while sitting across from my beloved daughter, In a dreamlike state my virtual visits and blog entries mingled with jet lag producing a sense of Deja-Vu. To be able to just reach across the table and touch her seemed miraculous. Photos are forbidden at LaDuree, forcing us to exercise our artistic licenses. This document was accomplished via the creative neural pathways of my daughter's companion, giving a visceral understanding of the phrase "under the table".
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