palmerpink

I've been wanting to write a poem about this place--this lake, our house here--for the longest time. I thought of this title for it yesterday, when I arrived up the driveway and stood near the house and breathed the air, thinking, "Oh, this lake that never leaves". Because that's something I love most about it. Of all the moves and changes and (alleged) growing up over the years, this lake, this house, has always been right here. My mother and I realized that one perfect morning on the dock, at that mysterious hour before the wind picks up and the lake is flawlessly smooth. She pointed out how for both of us it's the only thing that's been constant in our lives; we've both come here yearly since we were born. A respite we can rely on; an anchoring place. I was getting worried that I wouldn't make it up here this year. I kept being detained by work or miscommunications with family. But I got here, and I am so happy I did. It's just about freezin...

<p>So I'm partway on my way to NYC for the weekend. It's been a while since I had a real, solid visit though my last two--bookending a trip to Connecticut--were lovely and marvelous.</p> <p>This feels kind of last-minute; I'm still not sure what all we'll be doing when we get up there. It still feels like only last week when Parker reminded me, "You know our New York trip is next week, right?" Oh, wait, I guess it <i>was</i> 'just last week'.</p> <p>I like the way this (mini)roadtrip feels. I guess I'm just so used to the way my parents freak out and micromanage and overpack and yell at eachother (something they otherwise never really do...). I seemed to almost inherit some of that anxiety as the weekend approached--mostly out of worry for how/when/what we'd be doing.</p> <p>But then I let go somewhat, somehow. Like, I'd call my friends to check in and coordinate, and while they'd...