Deep thoughts. Like, the deepest thoughts. Or maybe he sees a fly.
Heirloom Tomato Salad from 101 Cookbooks, in which four people eat three pounds of tomatoes and many bars of chocolate.
“I have pennies for everyone!” Laura says, rummaging through her purse. “My wish is that everyone has a wish!”
A week/end digest:
- Frozen yogurt with Rob and Watsy
- Summerfest with Kelli (not pictured, Max and Watson by our sides)
- Walking to my car at sunset
- First tomato from my garden (many green ones growing bigger every day)
- The Fine Arts and Design Library shares a building with the Architecture school. When this piece showed up one day, the library people could not tell if it was an homage or a threat. Still unclear.
- Watson being Watsony
Kelli and Rob come over for pesto, ice cream, and the new Grace Potter and the Nocturnals album.
A week/end digest:
- One red cabbage plant, sturdy and colorful.
- Watson gets comfortable with Carson at Tractor. He likes microbrews.
- I am attempting a standing work station. It gets challenging around 4pm, but is otherwise great. Lots of dancing/bouncing in place whilst typing.
- This is Watson’s Saturday morning bed head.
- Rob and I went to a German car show outside the museum.
- Kelli and Max sleep over so often I gave her a toothbrush.
- “Silvia, are you asleep right now?” Rob asks.
- “No. I am sulking in bed with my eyes closed.”
- “Do you want to walk to the concert with me or are you staying in bed?”
- “Ohh…okay. I want to do that. Let me find my pants.”
We do this thing every week at Church of Beethoven where the lights dim and we celebrate two minutes of silence. There’s the clink of coffee cups and papers rustle; from the balcony space, I like to fidget in my chair and consider the tops of everyone’s heads. It is mostly quiet though, the warehouse full of people appreciating stillness.
I look forward to those two minutes every week but what I needed last night was two hours of really loud, really amazing music. Destroyer at Launchpad was big and grand and loud, the kind of loud you feel under your feet and in your chest.
After it was over, and our friends had dispersed, Rob and I ate hot dogs with kraut by the side of the road.
I have so many feelings church of beethoven using that tag instead of chatter feeling rebellious hey friend
There may be something to be said about eggs and baskets and breezy sunshine after a night of rain, but Rob is coming over so we can eat things and celebrate trains, so I better hurry and find my shoes.
I marvel at the 20-and-30-somethings who are able to build permanent structures for their adult lives, who can make reasonable assumptions about what is to come. I wonder what it is like to know real, sturdy constancy.
Until then and for now, I can sit down to dinner on a warm Monday evening with six people, one baby Winter, and a Watson. If I am making terrible mistakes, I don’t think our watermelon could taste so good, so maybe it is all okay.
In two weeks, it will be (academic calendar) Summer. Four weeks from today, I am going to New York.
I took Rob to the airport this morning, and as we hugged goodbye (hugs are only for travel longer than a week and emotional turmoil), he said, “call if you need me, okay?”
The wonderful thing about Rob is that I know he means:
- Call me if you need to talk about your feelings
- Call me if you are lying under your bed with Watson listening to Vitamin String Quartet versions of Bright Eyes and realize that you need to make better choices
- Call me if you break something and need suggestions and a material list for fixing it
- Call me if you are at Anthropologie and can’t choose between two incredibly similar green potholders
- No, really, do you need to talk about your feelings?
Watson supervises Rob’s construction space, keeping us on task and up to speed. Thanks, Watson.
We all went roller skating. It should not be a surprise, given my lifelong struggle with balance and gravity, that I was not very good at roller skating (note that, even while sitting, I am gripping onto the edge of the seat lest I fall down).
Fortunately, I have the kind of friends who pretend that they did not see me eat it, spectacularly.
