is it true? is summer really (finally!) here? can we eat ice cream? frolic in bare feet? eat outside?
the interesting thing about the change of seasons is the marking of time. as jane goes into 'the deep void' in november, the leaves have turned, it's mid-fall, and the temperature continues to drop. it feels like the beginning of winter - a bleak and dreary time (although frankly, i think that winter this year surpasses spring for sunshine and warmth!).
a wet spring produces a multitude of storms, and schizophrenic days - warm, then cool, dry, then moist - and everyone's mood seems to follow! but now the grass is green, the leaves abundant, and we have sun - yes, sun! and it seems like a meteorological conclusion, quite metaphorical actually, to jane's journey into, around, and over breast cancer. it's like a new beginning.
it is time for the beach! for yankee stadium! for ralph's italian ices! oh, the glory of it all, everyone smiling, tops down on the cabriolets, shorts and flip flops. this past weekend, we indulge profusely - we flit from one pool party to the next, from one BBQ to another. copious amounts of mustard and ketchup are ingested, with a side of burgers and foot longs. beer, wine, lemonade! and friends! everyone's come out to play!
one of our most favorite things in the world to do - a day well spent at robert moses state park, where one can find the most lovely, untouched beach at the western tip of fire island. where, in fact, it is just a tad too windy for swimming and relaxing, we instead take a long stroll through dunes and sea grasses to the fire island light house. it is pristine, quiet, peaceful. we continue further along, passing beach cottages, to kismet - a quaint 'town' - for ice cream. the two hour round trip walk transports us to the most heavenly of places - a platitude not known since our days in miami some weeks ago.
additionally, jane and i share a funny experience on sunday morning - a picture perfect day. we venture into the city for our usual sunday morning petit dejeuner, and we are seated next to a lovely young couple with a baby slung over the wife's mid-section (five weeks old). we strike up a conversation, and despite the fact that we are inches apart, it is clear that we (both couples) are peering across an invisible time barrier. they are fresh new parents, and have a whole lifetime of experiences to fulfill. they do not know what lies ahead, but they are confident that it is full of promise, hope, good things. we are on the other side, fondly recalling those early, innocent days of marriage, parenthood; we too recall those optimistic sentiments, untouched by realities. they look at us, and think it's sounds great - three grown children, a home, stability - and can't imagine the path that leads to this particular spot. a curious and compelling divide.
the interesting thing about the change of seasons is the marking of time. as jane goes into 'the deep void' in november, the leaves have turned, it's mid-fall, and the temperature continues to drop. it feels like the beginning of winter - a bleak and dreary time (although frankly, i think that winter this year surpasses spring for sunshine and warmth!).
a wet spring produces a multitude of storms, and schizophrenic days - warm, then cool, dry, then moist - and everyone's mood seems to follow! but now the grass is green, the leaves abundant, and we have sun - yes, sun! and it seems like a meteorological conclusion, quite metaphorical actually, to jane's journey into, around, and over breast cancer. it's like a new beginning.
it is time for the beach! for yankee stadium! for ralph's italian ices! oh, the glory of it all, everyone smiling, tops down on the cabriolets, shorts and flip flops. this past weekend, we indulge profusely - we flit from one pool party to the next, from one BBQ to another. copious amounts of mustard and ketchup are ingested, with a side of burgers and foot longs. beer, wine, lemonade! and friends! everyone's come out to play!
one of our most favorite things in the world to do - a day well spent at robert moses state park, where one can find the most lovely, untouched beach at the western tip of fire island. where, in fact, it is just a tad too windy for swimming and relaxing, we instead take a long stroll through dunes and sea grasses to the fire island light house. it is pristine, quiet, peaceful. we continue further along, passing beach cottages, to kismet - a quaint 'town' - for ice cream. the two hour round trip walk transports us to the most heavenly of places - a platitude not known since our days in miami some weeks ago.
additionally, jane and i share a funny experience on sunday morning - a picture perfect day. we venture into the city for our usual sunday morning petit dejeuner, and we are seated next to a lovely young couple with a baby slung over the wife's mid-section (five weeks old). we strike up a conversation, and despite the fact that we are inches apart, it is clear that we (both couples) are peering across an invisible time barrier. they are fresh new parents, and have a whole lifetime of experiences to fulfill. they do not know what lies ahead, but they are confident that it is full of promise, hope, good things. we are on the other side, fondly recalling those early, innocent days of marriage, parenthood; we too recall those optimistic sentiments, untouched by realities. they look at us, and think it's sounds great - three grown children, a home, stability - and can't imagine the path that leads to this particular spot. a curious and compelling divide.
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