largess

flying back into cleveland from denver we came through about seventeen layers of clouds. it was so choppy i was holding onto the armrest and the seat in front of me and hoping that i wouldn’t have to use the special little bag joe tossed on my lap once the captain turned on the fasten seatbelt sign.

(which reminds me, who are these people who feel like they don’t have to fasten their seat belt when the sign tells them? i’ve always known that i’m something of a freaky rule-follower, but isn’t it ridiculous to be wandering toward the bathroom when the plane is heaving to and fro like a sailboat hitting a reef? and, speaking of airplane bathrooms, there is nothing that can make an eight month pregnant woman feel more huge and unwieldy than an attempt to use the airplane bathroom–especially those models with the doors that hinge inward. this baby is lucky if she doesn’t have a brain injury from me trying to extricate myself from the lavatory.)

and this is all to say, joe finished two residency interviews in colorado and i’m conflicted. i love colorado. (who doesn’t love colorado?) it has 300 days of sun! mountains! other stuff! and it was so so delightful to see little henry having a wonderful time with his grandparents. but. and here’s the but. it is so durn expensive to live there. i have no idea how we would do it with two little kiddos and a resident’s salary. so ann arbor is looking better and better. (am i that shallow that all i really want is a bigger apartment?)

trepidation, i guess, is what i’m feeling. this is a year full of staggeringly huge Events. and i’m scared of making any of the decisions. and i’m scared of the responsibility. and though living as a perpetual student isn’t an option, it does start to look tempting, doesn’t it?

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all hail columbus

i cried during the columbus day parade.

i wish i could say that i don’t usually cry at parades, but i’m not sure that’s true. there’s something just so overwhelming about seeing so many kids all dressed up and excited and doing what they’ve practiced and being proud of themselves in so many ways: some of them are beaming, some staring straight ahead, some ignoring their mothers who are frantically waving and trying to get a picture. it chokes me up to see henry staring at the clarinets and snare drums, waving his little arm to everyone on foot and on trolleys and floats.

as if that weren’t enough, i couldn’t help thinking, “this is it. my last little italy columbus day parade.” and that got me in the gullet. i know it’s taken years, but this place is home. it’s where my begonias bloom. it’s where we pluck mexican midget tomatoes at midnight. it’s where i brought home my baby, bungled through mothering an infant, and wrote my first book. this place has given birth to so many things. it’s a precious place. and perhaps more precious because i knew we would never stay.

and then over the next few weeks will be interviews upon interviews for residency programs. another year of our life up for grabs.

is this how columbus felt when he got in his boat not knowing whether or not he was about to sail off the edge of the world?

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hurricane ike

we drove home from ann arbor last night in the midst of ike’s remains. even after it spent most of its fury manhandling cuba and exploding through houston, it was an unearthly storm. a large bank of dark clouds–the whole earth was yellow and swirling with tree limbs and rain. we rode the edge of the storm, fighting our way through rain and eighty mile an hour gusts of wind. it wasn’t until we turned onto murray hill and saw the carnage through little italy that we thought of our tomatoes. those sweet sweet heritage breeds we nursed from tiny seedlings through the entire summer. they just barely fruited a few weeks ago and we were already imagining those round bursts of goodness.

i know that lots of people lost a lot more than i did with ike’s visit, but i still can’t help mourning the tomatoes. i can’t help reliving that constriction of desolation when we pulled into the back parking lot and saw our tomatoes bent and broken. oh my little brandywines…

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imagination

i am a lucky girl. not only has my posture improved over the past week, but i also got to spin out a week of my life at cleveland state’s imagination workshop. for those of you who are turning up your noses and thinking–writing in cleveland, it’s not possible–think again. neal chandler, director, is a genius. and meeting josip novakovich was beyond delightful: the man is hilarious in a sort of deadpan eastern european way. my list of books developed a sort of bunnies-mating quality. and i’m even more determined to get a few essays out as soon as reading periods open again in september. it’s a pleasant little time-warp to feel like a student and a writer again after so many days of playing at the park and reading sandra boynton. so, all of you with dreams, give yourself at least a week to dabble in them. you’ll walk a little taller.

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dirt

it’s finally here: dirt! i’ve turned all my pots and pruned the peonies. and i’ve got garden-lust, big time. i have to sit on my hands when i pass a garden center. (i sing to myself: musn’t fill the pots with pansies, musn’t fill the pots with pansies.) but i see my neighbors with little resistance and window boxes full of first flowers, pansies and violas.

and this year, instead of just a rambling porch garden, we’re expanding into the parking lot out back. our tomatoes starts arrive the third week of may. then watch out: we’ll be nursing gold medals and brandywines, sheepnose pimentos and burans. and lettuce! an entire salad just waiting for me next to the garage!

i probably shouldn’t admit this, but i have a secret little wish tucked behind all the normal things i seem to be wanting these days (a disposal, a garage door, a husband with a job, plush carpet)–i want to be earth mother to a sprawling garden. to live off my own fruits and vegetables. to wander into the grocery store as an afterthought: maybe for lucky charms or a rotisserie chicken. to wander out again without buying anything and harvest my own beets for dinner.

but i probably won’t ever be the green queen. you have to admit that paper plates are incredibly convenient.

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