She’s gone back to Brooklyn,” her mother would say.
Things I’ve been doing instead of writing a blog post (because my dad sent me an email, the entirety of which read “no blog?” It’s good to have fans who check up on you.):
- Sitting by a pool with two dear friends, discussing how to avoid disappointment.
- Reading three books in three days.
- Appreciating the family I left behind for three days and then returned to with a whole bunch of joy.
- Watching a nightly Doctor Who episode with my youngest son (and sometimes my oldest son) and remembering the first time we watched these, when it snowed and the electricity went off and we worried that the laptop battery would die before we got to the end.
- Jogging in a Kentucky urban sprawl zone and remembering being younger and slimmer and running in an Atlanta urban sprawl zone and thinking about how much better I like being now than then.
- Thinking about packing for a camping trip. Not actually packing, just thinking about it.
- Visiting Ann Patchett’s bookstore! Where I was grateful to have limited myself to carry-on for my flights because otherwise I would have spent far more money.
- Reading in lines at the airport. I love reading in lines at the airport, because if I don’t then it feels like I spend hours just…
- Waiting. Lots and lots of waiting.
- Contemplating a life lived without intent.
- Listening to stories about the elderly who suffer.
- Deciding not to be an elderly person who suffers.
- Being unsure about how to make sure I don’t become an elderly person who suffers.
- Playing Scrabble. When we all lived in the same place (my two long-distance friends and I) Scrabble was something we did on a fairly regular basis, not often, but enough that it was what we did when we were together. It’s been about five years since we last played Scrabble together.
- Hanging out with a three-year-old. Who reminded me of my oldest son when he was three years old, which is even sweeter because the current three-year-old’s grandmother, my friend, used to watch my son when he was three. She’d babysit while I went off to write. And now she has a three-year-old grandson who is interesting and sweet and unusual in a good way. I liked him. And I think she’ll be good for him, like she was good for my boy.
That’s about it. I mean, there are plenty of other more tedious details I could impart, but it’s time for Doctor Who.