Strange But True
Five years ago, when I first opened the package containing the wedding quilt that a woman whom I consider to be my honorary grandmother crocheted for my husband and I, I thought the colors were oddly dull. When I opened the package again after my divorce, they seemed glowing and vibrant; I now display the quilt on my couch.
Speaking of marriage, I should be bitter, but I’m not. I’m hopeful. It’s weird, and sometimes it makes me feel like something that can’t learn, like a goldfish.
My omnivore boyfriend said to me the other day that he thinks it might be a good idea to expect grocery store shoppers to cut their own meat from a carcass, wrap it up, and then pay for it because then people would understand more sincerely the severity of meat consumption. I liked that he said it; I even admired it.
Speaking of meat eating, the very best vegetarian dim sum I’ve ever had was in Philadelphia, home of the cheesesteak.
Instead of experiencing a warm, small-town pride when I’m about to drive past any of the tiny, family-owned businesses on the quiet roads near my home, I feel dread; in this economy, I’m afraid they’ll have disappeared, and often that fear is confirmed. Today’s casualty was Nana’s Pizzeria right near the train tracks.
Speaking of Nana, my ninety-six-year-old paternal grandmother, in hopsice now and likely in the last days of her life, asked *me* last month if I have any regrets. Aren’t I supposed to be asking her that?
Snow blankets everything, but it makes the whole world radioactively bright, a quality that recommends it despite its other, less-brightness-induced headaches.
Speaking of winter, I hate January and February; I love to be outside, and I hate being cold, so these months are hard for me. But, the freezing, stinging winds of winter give me an excuse to stay inside under a blanket and not do anything productive, the gift of rest.