O. Daddy. Yesterday was long.
It’s (almost) the most wonderful time of the year. It is for me, at least. October means visits to my daughter at college and all the folly that comes with that. Approaching cold, falling leaves, trips to the orchard, sappy movies with winding narratives, food-food-food, gathering up the last of the harvest from the farms, planning about holiday meals, family visits, gifts — this is when I come up with the color scheme for the wrapping paper I’ll stencil or paint or badly sketch. I love this time of year and all the festivities that come with it.
The best thing about October: my father’s birthday.
Massasoit statue perched overlooking Plymouth Rock and Cape Cod Bay at sunset today. Last year I stood looking up at this statue, for the first time, in awe and despair. I have this thing with iconography and symbols of history and religion — old church steeples, the American flag, and statues, to name a few. I’ve come to believe this is because as a black woman in America, I am simultaneously home and a castaway. There is so much beauty here; there is so much blood here.
There’s so much chaos around us all, a lot to consume and endure. But today we started the week by sleeping in late with the sound of rain and wind howling off the ocean. A day of movie watching and streaming ebooks and podcasts. My baby is home for fall break, my wacky partner is grazing about. My family is healthy and in good spirits. When the greatest challenge in your day is pulling silk from the kernels of corn you’ll transform into a vegetable sautee, it’s a damn fine day.