Saturday, July 27, 2013

In between all my big adventures, Buenos Aires, Brazil, PhD school, the Eastern United States, are all my tiny daily adventures. Learning to cook. Spending time with friends. Making something out of nothing. Making nothing out of something. The tiny adventures are what keep me grounded, keep me stable, keep me moving forward [though I resent directional metaphors].

Tonight, my parents and I tried to make ravioli. I made the filling, my mom made the pasta, and my dad cooked everything. It was reasonably successful.
Though I might have made myself sick eating a lot of raw pasta during the preparation process. 

Also, three of my closest friends have babies now. Four babies between the three of them. I love my friends' children more than I could ever possibly explain. Tiny people made out of the bigger people who have been a part of me for years. I am so fortunate to get to watch my friends' kids grow up, from a few weeks old, to a few months, to a few years. I love buying them things. I love feeding them, bathing them, reading to them. I love seeing the way they see the world. How they learn more in an hour than I probably do in a year at this rate. Especially the youngest ones. Like M's baby, L, who was exactly one month old the day I finally got to meet her last week. I drove to the Springs. M had a beautiful lunch prepared, as always. There's something so intimate about eating a meal with someone in their home. Especially when they made you that meal. Especially when their home is filled with this small person they made, too.
M took this photo.
Sweet baby Lucy.

I also got to spend an afternoon with the first little boy to have ever come into my life. I am floored, constantly, by how much he knows, by the way he forms complete, complex sentences with adjectives all over the place. How fascinated he is by every little thing, how sensitive he is to sound and music and how he can pick out particular instruments. This time, I was especially awed by his knowledge of and obsession with road construction. We played with trucks in his sandbox, and instead of saying "the yellow truck" or "the green truck," he would say things like, "the steam roller," "the paver," "the front loader," and "the digger." On our walk to lunch, he made us stop at the construction site near Logan so he could see the equipment in real life. He told the construction worker what all the trucks were. I could spend forever with that kid and never get bored. Between his brilliance and his sister's hilarious faces and his mother's constant warmth, calm, and continual support of me in all situations, I was filled with so much happiness. I love that family. They are such a part of home to me.

Sometimes, all it takes is late night video skype with my best friend N, or even later night phone calls from Ohio while I wander the asphalt of my cul-de-sac post-rain, hopping in puddles, talking about carnicerias, change, memories, while lying on the wet street under the midnight clouds and stars.

Or walks with the dog at dusk on the paths that lead through my old elementary school. Rabbits and foxes and deer pausing to give us brief notice. 

Sometimes it's just saying goodbye to my friends so they can start a different kind of life somewhere far away, spreading us all apart even more, but giving all of us yet another wonderful place and home to visit when the distance becomes too hard. Florida, I'll be seeing you soon.
Oh, and making new friends.

Sometimes all it takes is something unexpected. A flower the size of my face. I firmly believe that if you can make an adventure out of everything, you'll never want for anything.

No comments: