Hannah's
mother shakes us with the news that her husband is seeing another woman.
He is not just having an affair, but plans to openly split his time between his
family and the other woman. He is not stupid enough to think that his
wife and daughters will be happy about this, but he is actually stupid enough
to think that they will be understanding. He has turned 50. He
“needs more excitement” in his life than being a successful doctor and now a
successful administrator with an important job and international travel and a
devoted wife and three beautiful girls and a soccer game he can play in on
Sundays after coaching one or two of his girls’ teams on Saturdays.
So I am not 50 yet, but I am getting close, and I have been getting ground up
pretty good at work the last couple of months. Too busy to go on
vacation with KC and the girls a few weeks ago. Getting into the office
some days by 7:00 a.m., so that I can crank out enough projects to keep my head
above water before the meetings start at 9:00. Meetings, calls, and
emails all day. Then, after all that, getting some real work done.
But now the case that was going to go to trial this week has suddenly
settled. K.C. and Megan are off in Tupelo, Mississippi, where Meg is
competing in the Eastern U.S. championship meet for Level 9 gymnasts.
(Only 50 girls in the country go to these national championship meets!)
So I am home both with and without Miss Rachel.
We drive this morning to her soccer
game in Arlington, where she is the best player on the field. Then we
make the short drive over to Redbones in Somerville for some good pulled
barbecue sandwich plates, then tool around the corner and pick up a big box of
Kick-Ass Cupcakes, then drive to Porter Square to get a big bag of Japanese
rice before Kotobukiya closes for good. Now Rachel is off at her friend
Louisa’s house, getting ready for the “teen center” dance.
And so -- left to my own devices for the late
afternoon and evening -- what do I do? Throw my Poke Boat on the minivan,
grab my tackle and the paint-pot of worms that I harvested from the driveway a
couple of weeks ago after a good night spring rain, and go fishing at
Longfellow Pond. I paddle to the far end of the pond and catch a feisty,
swollen sunfish on the first cast. And then, over the next hour and a
half or so, a full batch of sunfish, along with a decent, surprisingly dark,
calico bass, and a fingerling largemouth to boot. I happily cast away,
listening to the Sox game on my little transistor radio, and pause a couple of
times to snap some pictures of Canada geese with their broods of new spring
chicks.
I drive home, put my gear away, mix a stiff martini, and retreat to the back deck with my drink and a pungent Hoyo de Monterey Excalibur and my Macbook and my transistor radio (Sox down big against the Rays, but hey, it’s a long season) and here I am, typing away and watching out for rabbits and listening to the birds of North America doing their thing around the neighborhood, and Mr. Noonan next door puttering around, getting his back yard ready for the summer. Hoping Megan is having a good meet, and so proud of her. Hoping Rachel will have a great time at the dance, and so proud of her as well. Getting a good buzz on and thinking about the little pizzas I will grill later with the fresh tomato and fresh mozzarella and fresh basil that are all resting, for the moment, in the fridge in our nice big house.
Are there more songbirds around this year? And more blue
jays? It seems so.
Is our neighbor’s husband missing the boat?
The one that goes right through here? That seems so, too.
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