Phetasy News - The Dog Days of Summer
What Are Factory Settings, James Kirchick and the Hidden History of Gay Washington, Slut Regrets, There's Lead In The Aqueducts Dumpster Fire & merch
Greetings from the Phetaverse!
It doesn’t really feel like summer until I’m home—which is where I’m currently writing this. I’ve returned to the East Coast to introduce Matilda to her grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins and I want her to dip her tiny toes in the Atlantic. It’s important to me that she knows her roots. That the sound of my sisters’ voices are familiar. That the smell of salt and seaweed triggers fond memories of family and beach time and fun. It’s hard to be so far away—the trip from California to Rhode Island wasn’t easy when I was single. It’s daunting with a baby—and I wasn’t going to make the effort.
Buddhist teacher Jack Kornfield said, “The trouble is, you think you have time.” The thing about only going home once a year is that I’m acutely aware of the passage of time. Folks move like they’re a bit older and nieces and nephews have grown like weeds. On the heels of the lost COVID years, this is even more true. Which is why we got on that plane and came back East for three magical weeks. I feel grounded and calm here, surrounded by the people who I love the most in this world. I’m reminded of what matters.
I love this time of year, it brings me back to my childhood. Drinking up the last of the lemonade and heat and unstructured time before it’s back to routine and school and crisp mornings. My summers were idyllic; classic New England coast. Lots of bike riding. Long days at the beach, often from morning to sunset. The muggy heat. Sweet corn at every dinner. Sticky fingers from stone fruit. Lobstah rolls. That unmistakable smell of the Atlantic. The distinctive screech of the seagull. Huge family gatherings. Cousins. Beach cookouts. It’s all so vividly etched into my mind and soul. Now, it will be etched into Matilda’s, too.
