just one more thing
So you see, even though summer break started the day I submitted the 150th grade and set ablaze the instructions for filling out the assessment rubrics, it was not really summer break until this weekend, which was my mom’s first week of post-school year freedom.
Now to many, summer break is filled with melony things like pools and lakes and bbqs, tanning and margaritas and beach books. And of course, we do our share of these as well.
After the work is done.
I haven’t spent a summer at home in ten years, and the memory of my mom’s endless list of summer projects nearly slipped from my mind. Until this weekend. In just that time, bedroom furniture has been rearranged, a treadmill has been moved, flower beds have been planted and replanted and replanted after a particularly painful mid-day trip to the nursery where I watched her tornado through the long, hot rows searching for the perfect perennial to put in a slightly bald spot by the white column by the front door. breathe.
Now I often feel bad for my mom since my dad wakes up at 3 am to run regardless of rain, shine, snow, holiday, etc., and general running craziness, and my mom has put up with it for 28 years. But today I realized the precise way that she pays him back.
After all, it wouldn’t be summer if my mom wasn’t hanging a tennis ball from the ceiling in the garage.
to sing goodnight to
I am absolutely adoring Marvin Pontiac’s No Kids. The layering is lovely in the second verse (or is it the chorus?). I think it’s difficult to say it in songwriting these days, like “Where is my mom?” and “I have some pain,” so this is very refreshing.
And because I must leave Rachel Ray’s scarf fiasco to my Dad, her biggest fan, I suppose I’ll turn to poetry instead and include some newish poem here. I don’t know why I’m having trouble breaking lines all of a sudden. It might be because I’m pushing toward the new year of non-fiction writing.
HIGH CULTURE: A PILCROW
In the lower worlds, where all things are slowed but not gone, they take the old diseases and give them new names. Suffering is a human cholera. It takes the nape of a child. Turns the skin in on itself. It’s easier to watch a skeleton become a skeleton after all. Who am I to question water’s holiness? Dip two fingers in. Take it to the forehead, chest, shoulder to shoulder. Take a rainforest by the mouth and see if it is a blessing then. In Yellowstone, half the bison herd died this winter. Herds once in ten millions that survived since prehistory on the grasses starved to death on the mountainsides. Or, animals of instinct, left the park for food and ended face to the slaughter cull. The bodies are sunken now. Thawing in the sulfur pits. Steam rising over their hides like claws.
the perfect night in little italy
1. Corner table at gusto!
2. Stirling Sauvignon Blanc
3. Perfectly cooked roma muscles
4. Caprese di Bufala, Pasta e Fagioli, Pappardelle con L’aragosta ed i pettini, and Saltimbocca alla Romana
5. The two songs the accordion master played at our table
6. The 91-year-old Italian man standing to sing two songs, in a perfect tenor, as the accordion master played along
7. Dinner conversation: plans for Dublin at New Years and recollection of new things I learned about Budapest earlier in the day
8. Did I mention the handmade pappardelle with lobster and scallops in a saffron cream sauce?
9. My parents heatedly debating who would look better naked: Rachel Ray or Giada De Laurentiis
10. Espressos, cannoli, and lemoncello gelato
11. Corbo’s bakery for tomorrow’s breakfast biscotti
12. A Capri sun setting over Murray Hill
truth & beauty
Last night on my way home from work, I saw, at the corner of a few major streets downtown, a painted window for someone’s birthday. It was reminiscent of the days back in high school where we would paint each other’s cars during sports events– Go Revere Girls’ Tennis—Back To State!—Beat those Bitches from Canfield. It was always very classy. But tonight, this is what I saw painted on someone’s window in blue lettering:
MARGE IS 22
I can’t get it out of my mind. It seemed so definite and fatalistic, and also kind of perfect in a way. Maybe that is because of my own impending
JESSICA IS 28
in April.
Actually, I think I’m going to opt for the Edina Monsoon epitaph:
JESSICA IS 28. HELLO DEATH. HELLO OBLIVIAN.
So tonight my parents are going to see Emmylou and Patty Griffin in concert in Cleveland. It was my Christmas present to them, but I have to say that I’m feeling an enormous sense of jealousy. I told my Mom that half way through Patty’s set she has to be one of those people who screams “I love you Patty,” as that is what I would do if I were there. Something tells me she won’t do it. Just a hunch.
It only took me about a day and a half to finish Ann Patchett’s Truth & Beauty. I couldn’t pull myself away. If you don’t know, it’s about her friendship with Lucy Grealy. They were both at Sarah Lawrence together, and then at Iowa, and really had an amazing friendship up until Lucy’s death a few years ago. The book was really tender, but kind of brutal in a way. Maybe I’ll think differently about it with a little distance. It also makes me feel like a complete failure as a writer. Though, what’s new. Anyway, I recommend it if you haven’t read it yet.
go girl
Still watching the pundit fall out from Hillary’s big win tonight. They’re scurrying around and trying to explain how it could have happened. Wolf Blitzer’s and Lou Dobbs’ faces are all flushed and I think that Anderson Cooper is hooked up to an IV.
Are we really still underestimating the women’s vote, and perhaps even more importantly the undecided voter? At the time of the poll opening, there were still 15% of voters saying they were undecided. Yet everyone, especially the media, bought into the pop polling that projected Hillary to lose by 8-13 points. I suppose it just goes to show that nothing is predictable in politics. Anyway I’m thrilled.
My dad pondered whether or not the clip–gone viral–of Hillary tearing up yesterday had an impact today. I can’t speak for the voters of New Hampshire, but it certainly affected me. I’ve always been a Hillary supporter, but it was really relieving to see her in this moment. I’ll post it in case you haven’t seen it yet. Looks like things will stay exciting for Super Tuesday.
