Place, Continued

Place, Continued

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I love it here. If this place was a boy or a girl, I would marry it. Maybe it’ll be legal to marry places one day. And if so, then I will marry this one.

— Meg Wolitzer, The Interestings

The Interestings begins at a summer camp, where a group of artistic kids meet, give themselves the (ironic) name “the interestings” and forge friendships that will last all their lives. It’s a book that explores what it means to be talented and what it takes to build a happy life.

The line that grabbed me was spoken by a 15-year-old dancer about to be sent home from camp because of an eating disorder. She’s a minor character, the second generation the reader gets to see at the camp, but her experience mirrors that of “the interestings.”

The feeling she describes, an ecstatic connection with place, is probably as much about people as anything else. But haven’t we all felt that way once or twice, coming upon a town or a vista or an old house in the country to which we feel an immediate attraction?

It’s not always rational or easy to maintain, but it is real.

Vacations Past

Vacations Past

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It’s summer vacation season, and I’m remembering trips from the past. This photo is from the last big trip we all took together, four years ago now.

The scenery was magnificent. We drove down long valleys and past snow-topped mountains. We sampled once again from the riches of this continent, reminded ourselves how big the world is, how impossibly grand.

One of the times a family is most intensely a family is when all its members are crammed into a single vehicle. Sometimes too intensely a family. Which is why we haven’t taken another family vacation since then.

But the scenery, and the memories, remain.

Air Test

Air Test

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Last night I slept with the windows open, so I woke up this morning thinking about the difference between air-conditioned coolness and bona fide coolness.

I prefer the bona fide, but why? Would I know the difference if I was blindfolded and led into two random, air-differentiated rooms.

I think yes! The former reminds me of walking into a deep freeze, artificial chill, wearing sweaters in the summer. The latter has more moisture in it and therefore more texture. Because it comes in from the outside, it is fragrant and humming with low-level insect buzz. I could tell the difference in a minute … I think.

But this morning I don’t have to. The windows are open, the air is cool and the blue skies shimmer with promise.

Blue Ridge

Blue Ridge

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We live an hour from the Blue Ridge, but there are places near here, places so near I can walk to them, that give me a tantalizing glimpse.

A smudged line in the distance. A bank of green in the foreground.

So pleasing to the eye, this mixture of green and blue, of meadow and mountain, of the up-close and the faraway.

Bouncing in the Dark

Bouncing in the Dark

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Given the amount of daylight hours we enjoy, it seems ridiculous that I would run out of time and have to bounce on the trampoline after dark. But that’s exactly what’s happening. Long days and late dinners mean I’m jumping at 9:30 p.m.

Truth be told, I’m growing to like this hour. The night is alive with katydids and crickets and frog sounds. Bats swoop from tree to tree. The to-do list that formulates itself automatically when I can see what needs to be done is mercifully out of mind in the darkness.

Instead, my eyes are drawn to the house, to the lamp light glowing gold, to the kitchen window that winks and blinks as the refrigerator door is open and closed, to the people moving in and out of view.

No longer in it, I now can see it whole and entire — my sanctuary and my nemesis.

I know it’s late. I know I should go in. But I thumb through my playlists, find one more song — and keep bouncing.

Hummingbirds!

Hummingbirds!

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Yesterday I worked outside, editing articles in the heat and humidity, sitting still enough that birds and butterflies flitted by me, raising small eddies of air as they passed.

This little guy has been visiting us often. Lured by three feeders that were started early enough to get us on his (her?) gravy train. Or maybe “he” is actually “they,” a pair.

In the last two weeks I’ve sat close enough to hummingbirds to hear their wings whir and their brave little cheeps, to see them dodge bees as they angle toward the feeder. I’ve watched them fly off, sated (at least for 10 minutes), to perch briefly on the dead limb of an otherwise living red oak.

They are so tiny I can barely see them there, a bump on a branch. But I squint my eyes to observe their rare pause. Otherwise, I’ve seen them only in motion, their improbably tiny bodies vibrating with the effort of staying aloft.  Like many members of the animal kingdom, they set a good example. They never stop.

Appreciation

Appreciation

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Sometimes when the wireless network is acting up and a website takes a long time to load, I remind myself how miraculous it all is. Here’s a technology that lets me read words someone is typing thousands of miles away. Here’s a technology that lets me do my work at home. Here’s a technology that lets me see pictures snapped minutes earlier on another continent.

Usually this little pep talk doesn’t work too well because I’m already miffed at the slow speed or the unreliability or whatever it is. I don’t understand the technology but have come to rely on it. And I realize, with dismay, that a moment of aggravation is not the best time to recapture the awe. Better to wait until things are smoother, till the website is up and running again.

But guess what? When the website is up and running I’m back to being oblivious, to taking at face value that which may as well be angels dancing on the head of a pin. It’s hard to appreciate things when they’re going well. Much better (but supremely difficult) to appreciate them when they don’t work at all.

Mosquito Bait

Mosquito Bait

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The mosquitoes are hungry. Like the lightening bugs and cicadas, thrown off their normal cycles by a rainy June, they are making up for lost time. In the case of the lightening bugs and cicadas, we have mid-July evenings full of light and sound. But in the case of the mosquitoes we could have (if we let them) — no evenings out at all.

Two nights ago I emerged from dinner on the deck with at least half a dozen bites. Last night half as many more. Most sane people would grab their plate and place mat and head into the house. But how many evenings allow for al fresco dining at 8 p.m.? How many sultry skies with darting bats and a half moon rising between the trees?

So I spray repellant, light candles and give myself — and the mosquitoes — a chance to stay up late.

Happy Anniversary!

Happy Anniversary!

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A year ago today I opened the Washington Post and saw in the pet adoption column not the usual picture of a cuddly kitten or perky puppy but the head shot of a parakeet. It was a close-up, since it fit  the same space that a larger critter would take.

What it revealed was a green parakeet (unlike our dear departed Hermes, who was eye-popping turquoise blue) with a noble profile and a look of intelligence about him. A parakeet who knew his good side. His name was Sid.

I called the Fairfax County Humane Society. “Is Sid still available?” I couldn’t believe the “yes.”  I thought people would be beating down the doors to adopt this little bird.

But they weren’t.  And we did. And just for good measure we got Sid a lady friend — Dominique (our name, not theirs).

When Hermes was here the house was bird-centric to a fault. Sid and Dominique must roll with the punches. We do not read them a bedtime story. We do not talk to them night and day. But we love them and care for them and hang their cage from a hook in the kitchen where their feathers fall perilously close to the kitchen table. They’re part of the family now.

I write these words to the sound of parakeets chirping. It’s good to have birds again!



Photo: Claire Capehart

Heat Wave

Heat Wave

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The monsoon season has led directly to the heat wave season. We did not pass “Go.” We did not collect $200. It was a harsh transition.

But I don’t mind. The heat warnings and Code Oranges roll right past me. It’s the middle of July. It’s supposed to be hot!

So I keep walking, keep eating dinner on the deck, keep bouncing on the trampoline (those last two in the evening, when it’s “only” 90). I’m lucky. I work in an air-conditioned office, sleep in an air-conditioned house. I’m dabbling in summer.

Still, it’s nice to have it here.