Just a little more than usual
If it’s just my wife and me, it might be Baked Cod with sides of pilaf and asparagus, Thanksgiving dinner, and either Beef Barley Soup or Chicken Wild Rice soup.
The extended family’s choices would be all over the map, but I think a fair amount of them would lean toward healthy– Lebanese and Mediterranean dishes, lots of fresh ingredients.
Well, and let’s throw in some mac and cheese and chicken nuggets along the way.
I think it would be Abraham Lincoln. I’d want to match the voice that’s been often quoted over the years with the face, pick his brain, say thank you for his level-headed leadership during trying times, ask him what he thinks of the current occupant of the Oval Office– or if he’d even offer an opinion– and see if he’d have any suggestions regarding how we get out of this mess.
Sometimes. Other times, it’s hard to know if what I’m feeling are instincts or just reluctance to engage because I don’t feel like it. Truthfully, human instincts, to me, are a bit more nebulous than migratory patterns or nest building.
I think it would have to be May. Spring has sprung. The trees have new foliage, perennials are returning, the sky is deep blue sometimes, the winter winds have finally died down, the grass is green, and the temps haven’t yet risen to their summertime ridiculousness.
And toward the end of the month, we can start planting vegetables besides peas and lettuce.
I live in a small town. The nearest city is 35 miles away, and we go there to shop, on occasion.
When we lived closer to Philadelphia, we would drive in to the Broad Street area and park, walk around Market Street, have lunch at the Reading Terminal Market, then walk through City Hall, stop into the lobby of the first Comcast building, walk around Love Park and then make our way down to the Art Museum, ascend the Rocky steps, and take in the view looking out over the Benjamin Franklin Parkway, back toward Center City.
On a couple other occasions, we’d drive down to the 6th Street area and walk around The National Constitution Center, wait in line to see the Liberty Bell, find a street vendor selling cheesesteaks, then enjoy lunch sitting on a bench in the shadow of Independence Hall (it was always closed for renovations when we were there).
Great ways to spend the better part of a Saturday.
I guess it would be that I’m engaged in the moment, and listening. That’s what I’d like, in an ideal world– that I can hold peoples’ attention, that people find me worth talking to and taking seriously.
There are a few in progress on the iPad– Abundance by Ezra Klein, Who Is Government? by Michael Lewis, Murder the Truth by David Enrich, and Startalk by Neil deGrasse Tyson. I also downloaded The Sun Also Rises, by Ernest Hemingway. It’s been a while since I read that one.
I’m finding it difficult to read books on the iPad, though, and I think I get carried away with its highlighting feature. There’s something about having a harcover copy in my hands that feels more normal, somehow.
Or maybe my attention span is just shot to hell.
Somewhere that had four distinct seasons, probably not northern Maine or North Dakota, though they’re both beautiful. I think I’d probably stick around the current neck of the woods, somewhere north of I-80 in Pennsylvania. I’ve come to like the location, the temperate climate, the lay of the land, proximity to family.
It’s not like we can’t jump in the car or get on a plane if we want a change of scenery.
In a little over two years, I will have spent as much time in PA as I did in MA. It’s growing on me. Besides, I can’t imagine living anywhere but the U.S., despite the current dearth of leadership.
I found a good sized rock, maybe milky quartz or something similar, on Mt. Washington, and carried it down with me. For some reason, I wanted a souvenir of the climb, and this fit the bill. I’m not sure I realized, at the time, that it was probably frowned upon, or maybe illegal, to remove pieces of the mountain, but it was such a cool-looking specimen and I figured no one would miss it.
There’s probably something else, but it’s not coming to mind at the moment.
I met Bobby Darin backstage after a performance in Framingham, MA in the mid-1960s. Our accordion teacher took a bunch of us to see him.
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