Snippets

My sister and her three kids are in town on their annual summer visit. They drive up from their place in Nashville, and tend to be very casual about when they will arrive and for how long they'll stay. This makes sense because the kids are on summer break and my sister is between jobs, so why not be flexible? Right?

I only found out when they would arrive this summer, besides my sister's usual airy, "Oh, sometime in early July-ish!" when I got this text from her last Monday: "In Virginia. Be home tomorrow night! But maybe late."

I got home from work that night and told the hubs, "So, Jill will be home tomorrow. For two weeks. Guess I better take off from work soon, huh?" I packed a bag and went down to my mom's condo the next night, and since then my life has been a blur of bad sleep, long shleps from the suburbs to my NY office, and a shit-ton of junk food.

To my mom, love equals food. And since the kids are here, the food she demonstrates her love with are kid-things. Potato chips of many varieties. Double Stuf Oreos. Ice pops. Entenman's chocolate cakes and doughnuts and crumb cakes and pound cakes.(Anything Entenmann's, really, will do.) Twizzlers, for reasons no one can figure out. Mountains of bacon. Seas of bagels. French toast and pancakes and banana bread. A never ending stream of pasta and gravy and meatballs, and everything, everything, with a side of delicious cheese.

Three nights ago, we had pizza. Two nights ago, Chinese food. Last night, McDonalds. Today we're going down the shore so I definitely see a boatload of ice cream and funnel cake and boardwalk pizza (surprisingly delicious) or maybe even cheesesteak (mmm) in my near future. I have gained three pounds in one week, and still have another week (maybe?) to go. Oops.

Right now I smell pancakes, and even though I'm already in my gym clothes, and 100% ready to go for a run, something in me is all, nah, screw it. Let's just lay on the couch and feast on carbs to the point of feeling ill, and *then* put on a bathing suit! That sounds like a much more reasonable plan for the day.

One morning soon I expect my sister will wake up, pour herself a cup of coffee, wipe some sleep from her eyes, stand and blithely say, "Ok kids, pack it up. Let's head home." And the flurry of activity will end, and they'll drive gaily off into the sunset in their big red minivan full of electronics and gifts and snacks, and I'll stand in the driveway of a condo complex, disoriented and fat and sleepy, waving goodbye.

And then I'll go back to my apartment and my job and my commute and my salads and my turkey sandwiches on whole wheat, wondering where all of the Fritos have gone, and also the tiny hands that steal them from me when my head is turned.

Paradise

January finally drags into February and one fumbles with
numb fingers at the ordinary knots and hooks of life. People
are irritable, difficult. Some days you want to stay in bed
with the covers over your head and dream of paradise. A
place where the warm sea washes the white sand. There
are a few palm trees on the higher ground, many brightly
colored fish in the lagoon, waves breaking on the reef
farther out. No one in sight. Occasionally an incredibly
large, split-second shark darkens the clear water. Sea birds
ride the wind currents, albatross, kittiwake...and pass
on. Day after day, sea wind and perfect sky...You make a
big heap of driftwood on the beach.

- Louis Jenkins

Last night I walked through Hoboken in the dark, and it was windy, and the air was so cold my bones and face felt shattered. I tucked into a coffee shop and got a hot chocolate, which helped for approximately one minute before it the heat leached out of it. Then I sat on trains for awhile, all of them taking too long, drowsy with warmth. I watched people and thought about cold, about what a tropical sun feels like, about the lives of the other people in my train car, about poetry.

Could there be a better way to spend a day than making a big heap of driftwood on a beach? Quietly, alone, and under a perfect sky?

Summer Time by zhuzhu