Day 116 - Seeing

“Are you seeing anyone?” asks my brother-in-law. 

“Seeing anyone or seeing anyone?  I don’t see anyone!  Ever. At all.”

Day 115 - The Stand

The good thing about reading The Stand by Stephen King, which is about a disease that ravages the world, is that it makes our real government look downright competent. 

Day 114 - Hot Chocolate

When I come home, my mom bakes cookies.  On Day 114, hot chocolate cookies.

Day 113 - The Connecticut Campus

Here's the Connecticut Campus of Northern Virginia Community College.

Day 112 - Tick

Yesterday, I looked down while floating in the pool and saw a tiny tick had burrowed into my arm.  I squeezed it out.  Now I wait for the telltale bullseye . . .

Day 111 - Best 4th Ever

The 4th of July is my favorite holiday.  Spending the anniversary of the birth of our country at 26 Columbus Avenue at the Salem Willows in Massachusetts with my family is sacred.

I can only recall one year of my life that I did not spend Independence Day there.  45/46 years I have been there, following the tradition of gathering with my extended family at my mother's childhood home.  This year, with the death of my beloved Aunty Jane and the sale of the house, the tradition has ended.

This year, I miss the house on the cove.  I miss the omnipresent red, white and blue, the bustle, the predictability.  I miss the longest day of the year.  I miss my family.  I miss Aunty Jane and Uncle Jean Paul.

That one year that I didn't spend the 4th in Salem, I was in Guatemala for the entire summer, learning that in Spanish there is a version of the past tense that expresses something that happened habitually in the past.  I had trouble switching to that tense yesterday while continuing my learning with my Guatemalan teacher via Skype.  Often, my verb conjugation is just wrong.  This time, I knew the right version, but I didn't care to switch to a past tense to say how we used to celebrate the 4th of July.  I'm not ready to say that we used to do anything.  

I'm more comfortable with the present tense.  Here is what happens on the 4th of July.

It is a day of rituals.  We leave Connecticut at dawn, bustling with anticipation to drive the three hours to my Aunty Jane and Uncle Jean Paul's house to arrive before 10 am, the start of the parade.  We greet with hugs the dozens of family members from every generation who are milling in the front yard, slurping coffee (and maybe an early beer) while munching doughnuts and blueberry cake before the start of the Horribles parade during which assorted groups of boisterous neighbors wander-march down the street with makeshift costumes and floats celebrating and satirizing, tossing candy to children.  Sometimes the house has a theme, and we costume ourselves to match the bunting festooning the porch and the clever cardboard decorations on the lawn.  

After the parade, folks adjourn to sit and visit in the compact backyard and deck overlooking the cove where the tide will come in and out as the sun beats down.  The sea salt perfumes the air.  The people are the same every year.  Most of the day is spent idly visiting with those people we only see once per year.  Happy 4th!  What have you been up to?  Some things change.  But not the important things.  We age.  With each passing year, young kids grow older until they run around after kids of their own.  

My dad blasts off his impressive cannon from its perch on the sea wall every hour on the hour, startling the crowd with impressive booms.  Little people muck in the marsh, trapping minnows.  When the water is high, there is kayaking and swimming.  At some point, groups meander through the quaint neighborhood that seems awash with red, white, and blue, walking down to the small amusement park a few blocks away for skeeball and arcade games.  The carousel sings.  There is a vicious air hockey tournament.  We cash in tickets for trinkets.

The eating.  So much eating.  As the beer and soda supplies diminish, as our skin pinkens in the sun, we consume special treats until we bloat.  Each of us has a favorite.  At lunch, the bell rings, and soon plates are heaped with "vegetarian" sausages and peppers, mac and cheese, chips, salads.  Chili.  An entire separate table crammed with desserts.  Rice Krispy treats.   Chocolate peanut butter bars.  The white-frosted cake dotted with blueberries and strawberries to resemble a flag.  

And the popcorn.  The popcorn from Hobbs, the green shingled stand with the round roof on the edge of the rocky beach, a place that has been there for much longer than I've been alive.  The popcorn is infused with salt and yellow butter.  We hunt for the yellowish pieces, knowing they are the tastiest.  I buy a trash bag full of the world's most delicious popcorn to present to my mother for her to hide away in her freezer so that she can eke it out every once in awhile to taste the 4th of July all year round.  

As night falls, fireworks.  Sleepy, whining children.  Tipsy adults.  Final hugs.

"Best 4th ever," someone will announce each and every year as we part.  Those words, too, are a tradition.  "Best 4th ever."  

Day 110 - Cooking Shows

I've been watching a lot of cooking shows with my mom.  It's interesting to see the range of situations that each one presents, particularly since I've been cooking more since the start of the quarantine.

We watched Jacques Pepin layer a lasagna with soothing precision.  It was so calming and educational.  And we binged Season 2 of a series called The Big Family Cooking Showdown in which teams of three family members apiece are presented with various challenges in a limited amount of time.  All of the hurry and tension in that show makes for a different mood.  There's less emphasis on technique and more focus on the competitive aspect of producing a tasty meal.  Plus, the added difficulty of coordinating with a group of people.  I've never really cooked with other people so that makes for an interesting dimension.  Finally, we've been watching a Netflix adaptation of Samin Nosrat's book Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat.  Each element has a different episode dedicated to it.  She transports viewers to foreign lands to investigate the influence of each.  I feel as though I have traveled to Italy, Japan, and Mexico alongside her.  The markets!  The patient and unique approaches to producing tasty dishes! 

The best part is sitting by my mom, hearing her commentary and reflection.  It's wonderful to learn what she knows and what she is learning and appreciates.

Day 109 - Building

This was the day I entered an establishment for the first time since March. Weird. 

Day 108 - Dinner

Since lockdown began, one hundred and eight days ago, I have been keeping track of the days in my black and white composition notebook.  Each day I sit down and write the date, the number of that day, and my schedule.  

Since I've arrived in Connecticut, I haven't done that even once.  I haven't written in my journal.  I haven't listened to my playlist.  I've just relaxed.  It's nice.

On Day 108, my mom let me make dinner for her and my dad--red pepper harissa soup and scallion sour cream biscuits.  It was weird to be in a different kitchen, but nice to feed them.  How strange and gratifying to make food and share it immediately after so many months of cooking for myself.

Day 107 - Lazy

It’s hard to believe that I was ever an overachiever in high school because now when I come to my childhood home, all I want to do is sleep and eat and lounge.