yesterday was sort of miraculous, wasn't it? all that forecasted rain and gloom but instead we got this lovely springy sun. thomas and I rolled out of bed and into our running shoes for a jog around the park, early enough that the morning fog still hung across the treebranches and the birds were singing to each other across the meadow. we had planned a container-gardening day, which by necessity would take place on the floor of our apartment, but when we'd counted out our already sprouted seedlings and realized that we would have space for some extra plants, tom decided we should visit the botanic garden on our way to pick up some more seeds. so we walked up crowded, sun-drenched eastern parkway to the garden, then went winding our way down between beds of velvety pansies and unruly tulips to the garden shop. back at home, having had our fill of flowers, we spread soil across the floor and set our vegetables in rows to be potted. when we put them outside, just in time to catch the last rays sunlight before the earth turned too far eastward, we found that basil plants already had a few leaves to spare. we ate them chopped and sprinkled over the gnocchi puttanesca that tom made for dinner, and even though the nighttime darkness had settled in, I myself could hardly have felt sunnier.
[ 5.5.08] · [ ]
what not to say when you're trying to get a girl's phone number
"you have a boyfriend? is it serious?"
"you're in a serious? long-term? relationship? you look like you're twenty-one!"
"so, this guy. you trust him?"
"well, I'm sort of seeing this girl, but I don't really know if we're dating."
"yeah, we played ping pong together but now she keeps blowing me off."
"see we have this whole instant message conversation, let me show you on my phone."
"yup, I have lots of girls' phone numbers. I kind of collect them. heeheehee."
"oh, this is your stop? I mean I was going to get your number too--"
[ 4.5.08] · [ ]
we're in that magical patch of our short coastal springtime when it's never too hot or too cold or too humid or too sloppy to go running. I've been doing a random five-mile circuit through prospect park three days a week, most recently skirting around the back of the rose garden before shuttling down -- literally; the park straddles the harbor hill moraine -- through the midwood and around the peninsula of the lake before returning northward via a long sprint up lookout hill. every log and rock poking out of the lullwater was transformed, shiny slick and lumpy, by the turtleshells of sun-catching red eared sliders. when the wind kicked up it sent showers of crabapple and akebono cherry blossoms into the air, pattering against my cheeks and catching in my ponytail. I don't consider myself a runner so much as someone who generally enjoys being in motion, but there's no denying that these springtime jogs are among the most pleasurable of my exercise habits.
between my runs and wednesday and friday of last week, the park completely transformed, as the trees leafed out and shed their petals. that one day of awkward in-between growth, when they're covered in splotches of wilted flowers and looking shaggy under an uneven coif of floppy new leaves, is such a tidy little adolescence, and it reminds me of what I love about teaching high school students: they're like trees at the end of april, working hard to replace their frenzied and florid blooms with green baby leaves that will unfurl to let them drink in the sunlight. after two years working only in other people's classrooms, the last of my kids are about to graduate from high school. some of my first are about to graduate from college. I can't believe we're all so old, so grown, even in this springtime stage of life.
while I'm here, I wanted to say thank you to everyone who's been responding and making me think (and talk) more completely about my environmentalist outrage. it's good, and you're all great. want to come sit in on my dissertation committee meetings?
[ 29.4.08] · [ ]
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