Tuesday, November 27, 2007

dear dust-ghost

All the trees are dropping leaves. I always think I can smell the coming season just before it arrives, but maybe it's just a transplanted Midwestern sentimentality.

A couple Fridays ago, I boarded an early morning bus to Boston. Five hours later, I hugged my mom in the airport hotel, where we ate quesadillas at an Irish pub and set out to navigate the subway system. We slid through parent and child hordes at the aquarium, pressing our faces to the glass, watching penguins breathe our own air, wondering what it looks like when a jellyfish digests a fish. It's a curious business. After, we wandered Newbury Street and Boston Common, clasping arms and shivering, ordering bread and wine at cozy bistros while waiting for Bob to meet us. Mornings, he left early for his convention while Mom and I sat in our beds or the hottub or the coffee shop, chatting and gossiping and still missing each other. More museuming, more eating, briefly meeting up with Alex in a dirty bagel shop, shoe shopping, wandering and then Sunday, back on a bus to Chinatown. Mom kept apologizing for not doing enough, not seeing enough, but sometimes it's nice to stay lazy in a big city with people you miss.

During Thanksgiving weekend, I wrote letters, braved the supermarket for holiday food, became a bowling champion, learned how to roast a turkey, and baked pumpkin pie (thanks, Sara Lee). On Thursday we made dinner for six, ate until food coma set in, drank wine until wine coma set in, played board games and word games and passed out feeling full and happy. Or at least I did. Friday night brought a Jersey City excursion with Ivy and Thew, where we jammed to Brian's dj stylings, observed party guests and their costumed "we come in peace" interpretations (the night's designated theme), and endured a gruesome two-hour trip back to Brooklyn. the weekend's close was spent eating pizza, drinking egg nog and listening to records.

It's time for Christmas music again. More covers of carols drowning in remixed heaps of coloratura, melodrama and crap. Time for animatronic Santas greeting me outside shops and bodegas. I don't like either prospect and I probably never will.

1 comment:

Shawn Mitchell said...

A jellyfish digesting a fish looks a lot like me digesting a burrito from Uncle Moe's, in my experience.