After a difference of one week, forty degrees, and six hours each way, I am home and I think I will stay a while. Although I did not miss the tumbleweeds of bloodhound hair and omnipresent hundred degree plus heat, I did miss the producers of both and a whole lot more. Martha, it’s a good thing I went back, if only for the bloom to fade off the rose a bit. Don’t get me wrong. I LOVE it there, the ocean, the cool temperatures, the fog, the home, the health food store, and more; but, I was there long enough to realize a few things I did not love as much. Here in our boonies I can dress in front of open windows if I so choose; there I have to close the blinds to protect the numerous pedestrians and neighbors from the sight of 44 year-old breasts that fed three children for an average of 1.25 years each. Sag Harbor is not just a place in the Hamptons if you know what I mean. Here I am awakened at night by coyotes, roosters, and, in the case of last night, the occasional errant thunderstorm; there it is screeching cars and sirens. Although not numerous, the worrisome noises were enough to pull me fully awake, wondering what tragedy or crime has occurred. The country has enveloped me, pulled me under its spell. I am no longer a suburban gal.
While I was gone, Zorro continued to grow, both in David’s heart and in size. He is not quite poult, not yet tom. Yes, I have yet another teenager in my home. Can I hear a collective yippee?
In keeping with the ubiquitous oddness that envelops our home, he and Marshall have formed an uneasy odd couple. Marshall is obsessed with the turkey. Zorro walks on his back without a care;
Marshall strains to crane his giant head around to watch him.
Zorro hops off onto the sofa and Marshall follows.
Frustrated with their lack of communication, and possibly our refusal to allow Marshall to take a wee taste of the bird, Marshall rests his weary head on a stool and stares at the object of his obsession.
This goes on all day. The big lummox is nothing if not persistent.
If only to witness snapshots such as these, it is good to be home. Of course, I have many other reasons to be happy I am here, fleecy and feathery ones in the yard, hairy ones in the house, and a particularly handsome one in my bed. Yup, it is definitely good to be home. Eat your heart out, ladies.