On the night she is finally well

They celebrate their last night sans kids
with cocktails
on the deck.

applejack rabbits

It is a humidity-free night, a breeze whispers past their shoulders and through their hair, a full moon hangs low and pregnant in a clear sky. The heady, earthy scent of newly laid mulch is subtle and lovely.

tonight's moon

Inexplicably, but also because it makes complete sense, chicken stock simmers on the stove, liquid amber redolent of leeks and celery and a happy bird. The bones leave each other, the skin slips, the broth is golden; never having boiled, it is not cloudy. 

A pizza sizzles on the grill, another round of cocktails boogie with icy cubes in a silver shaker. They show their age by dancing madly, wildly, happily, freely to the Summer of '69 and You Shook Me All Night Long stations on Pandora.

Fat Bottomed Girls, Jessie's Girl, Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now, Right Now, Dream On, Paradise City, Your Love, House of the Rising Sun scream from the speakers; anthems for two who came of age in the 80s, that time of awful hair, leg-warmers and great music. 

Their cat watches with gimlet eyes. What does he think? He flicks his tail imperiously, knowing he is beloved.

They dance and twist and spin and breathe heavily; they are not in their twenties anymore. They are glad. 

Their boys are coming home tomorrow, and they can't wait to wrap their arms around their tan little bodies but they will also miss this sort of time. 

The Mamas and the Papas sing about the leaves turning brown and winter's days. The Stones paint it black, the cocktails are drunk, the stock starts to cool, tired bodies take to the couch, the cat joins, purring. 

Boo!

This is how I feel tonight.

I would just like to say that I caught a bug in New York, felt progressively worse during the trip and now have a full-fledged nasty cold with all the attendant crud. I feel like Nutmeg looks right now: over it.

I know that a cold is an extremely silly thing to whine about in the grand scheme of things, but I dropped Mom and Ol at the airport today at 12:30 and have, for the first time, in a good year, five days off from motherhood. I spent all day in bed and do not want to spend my whole break like that. 

BOO! on chest congestion and sinus face-ache and mounds of used tissues looking like so much snow. BOO! on dulled taste buds and weak limbs and no clinking of glasses with me olde hubs in celebration of this rare break.

At least the boys are thrilled to be in Louisiana, commencing their annual Big Boys Week with a trip to the pool and races with pint-sized battery-powered cars and junk food and going to bed late. And at least there are many episodes of The Americans to be watched.

I said to Ol today, "Honey, I'm sure going to miss you." And he said, "Well, I have to go, but I will come back." HAH!

A 40-pound fish, NYC day 2

While Mom, Ol and I take Manhattan, Jack is fishing in deep-south Louisiana with my dad (Jack and Ol call him Poppy) and uncle. A day of fishing sounds like penance to me, but Jack was beyond thrilled with Poppy's graduation trip idea.

They met the boat this morning at 5:30, enjoyed a glorious sunrise, and spent something like 9 hours out in the Gulf casting lines near an oil rig. Number 12, as Jack later informed us. 

At some point, Jack's baited line found a hungry fish. He started reeling, and twenty minutes, one break, and tired arms later, he pulled in a 40-pound bull red fish. Turns out it was the largest fish anyone caught today. We talked to him a couple hours later, and he was still positively ebullient, his cheeks flushed red with sunshine and pride. 

My boy (65 pounds) with his catch (40 pounds).

Tonight, my aunt is cooking the fish, and Jack, Dad, my uncle and my cousin's family are feasting. What a special day and what memories made!

my cousin's precious daughters, and J-bird

Meanwhile, Mom and I took Ol to the Museum of Modern Art because he wanted to see "Picassos, Kandinksys and Piet Mondrian." Ol always says Piet's whole name. It cracks me up. Anyway, this knowledge and interest is a gift from his incredible art teacher, and we were happy to oblige his request. 

MoMA boasts a hefty $25 admission fee for adults (museums in DC are free, y'all), and we found that all but a handful of Picassos (including every single rose- and blue-period piece which were the ones Ol had studied) and Kandinskys were in storage, as was the entirety of the photography wing. I saw two Richard Avedon's. Two. For the $25 love, MoMA. Give me a break. 

Mom and Ol and "Piet Mondrian"

That said, the Mondrians were wonderful, and Ol discovered Marcel Duchamp. He's still chuckling about this one.

Then through the Puerto Rican day parade, on multiple subway rides, to The Lion King and to dinner. A full, fun day. To the Statue of Liberty tomorrow, and then, home. Whew.