“The summer night is like a perfection of thought.” ~Wallace Stevens
Speaking of moving a body, I’d call these two to help. They’re pretty high up on my list:
We get to do this in the summer; these random get-togethers. This was the night that I made French 75′s but was running late because I forgot the lemons. Lemons are crucial to the French 75, they give it that citrusy essence as you sip your gin and juice. And by juice I mean champagne. But this was that night that we convinced Alana to sleepover and consumed all the champagne in the house, used up all the simple syrup and then all of the lemons. One of those nights where you sit outside until God knows when – because of course you don’t remember – and you belly laugh while sitting in your jammies. Never mind the children you think, they were all tucked in but the grown ups had sticky fingers and were diving into the potato chips and taking photos of a random tree frog that made it’s appearance on the porch. It was one of those nights where the following morning you see the remnants of the evening before strewn everywhere. Every part of your body aches from a hangover and you can only open one eye rather painfully to look at the time before plopping back into bed. The next morning Doug came and I’m pretty sure all I could do was stare at him while willing myself not to vomit. No, no, not because of Doug. Doug is lovely but because there’s something about that champagne and gin cocktail that goes down so easy but leaves you reeling in the morning.
It was one of those summer nights where you can afford to be spontaneous because quite literally nothing is going on. There’s no snow to fear or leggings under your leggings. Everything is so much easier, you know? I suddenly miss those lazy evenings of grilling and then sitting around, legs swinging and with a flip flop hanging off your big toe. You know you could use another pedicure but, eh, it can wait. Everything passes slowly with a tinge of indolence and fresh cut grass in the air. I miss those nights. Achingly so. They’ll be here soon enough of course but with this relentless weather as of late, it’s hard not to shut your eyes and imagine porch swings and champagne cocktails. And sand. Ah yes, I get the faintest whiff of beach.
27 hours
“Gratitude is an art of painting an adversity into a lovely picture.” ~Kak Sri
I went to DC for 27 hours. And it took exactly 27 hours for me to get a massive headache due to the whirlwind of being in DC. It was one of those instances where everything happens at once, a cacophony, tornado type thing that has you ducking and dodging and holding on for dear life waiting for something else to come whizzing past your face. The next thing you know you’re on a train back to the airport praying that Elin Nordegren would smack you in the head with a golf club. It was far too much at once and I’m all at once bursting and blessed and freaking the fuck out. And tired. As in currently writing this from my bed at 8:24 AM.
The above is pretty representative of how being in DC makes me feel: Genuinely happy and appreciative. And let’s face it, there’s really nothing cooler than being at a stop light for the fastest trip to Nordstrom ever (seriously, EVER. I couldn’t even look at the Stuart Weitzmans because I had my timer set to 11 minutes) and looking out and seeing the Washington monument. Just sitting there, being all monumental and massive and the sunlight was hitting it at the perfect spot and that tree helped to frame it beautifully. The flags at the base were that extra touch. Because sometimes everything comes together, unexpectedly, at the right time, in the right way and all you can do is be thankful.