Everything but a Med August

A guacamole stain on my dress is distracting me from the view out the plane window.  Part of me doesn’t want to wash it off.  We were having a picnic with Zachary and his friends in Central Park just yesterday.  I was attempting to seal the remaining guac in a container, envisioning his empty medical student fridge filling up with leftovers for his next meal.  The plastic top jumped into my lap, turning a patch of blue fabric to avocado green.  I didn’t pay any attention.  I was focused on them.  Four vibrant, young adults.  The future.  The ultimate reassurance in a present that moves along too fast.

Our trip away from Gerty to visit friends and family was too short and too long.  We had not enough time to see everyone we wanted to, yet we missed our girl and were ready to come home.  I’m guessing that’s how many people feel when they get covid as we did.  It got in the way of everything, and all we could do was be thankful that we were vaccinated and would survive.  

This is what I would like to remember: Ireland, where we went to celebrate Grandma Polly’s big birthday, the lakes of Maine and Montreal where we visited family and friends, and New York, where we will always feel at home.  This is what I will not forget: Zachary in his tank tops, Mom smelling the roses, boys in the bog, girls bottle feeding sheep, singing in bars with my sister, John & Elaine on the dock, Zachary cooking us dinner, canoeing and crepes with John & Stacey, Chinese with Doug & Lori, Ray & Joanne on their boat, the gang at the Greens, and last but not least, the guacamole stain picnic.