Gardening is the grasp of my sister thousands of miles away. Potatoes hot with yogurt, cheese and chives. Expanded berry patches and herb areas that fail to frown at these raging rains.
This song plays in the background as I fill my mind with asylum laws, "The Shape of My Heart." And I realize that this is the song I played to as a child, listened to in my neighborhood amongst the closest of friends, a song of cards and love, at once (a failure at a poker face in tune). The girl I babysit for is on the Facebook and has photos of adventures in Morningside Heights. I can't believe how quickly time has passed by...
Two nights ago I sat with Paul at the noodle bar inhaling some of the best food I have had since I got here. I was approached by a little witch, all ready for today (Halloween). "Trick or Treat," she announced. And when greeted by our surprise and tickles of laughter, a second attempt:" Trick or Treat. Seriously." It wasn't even Halloween. No one had candy at dinner. Oh, how I try to understand England...
But of course I can hardly stop laughing. Laughing when we are "late" for formal dinner and scolded. Laughing when I am soaked on my bike in a dress and tights (how young I feel in tights!). Laughing when the iron won't heat (I have turned the knob the wrong way--life feels backwards here). Laughing at the thought of HalloQueen. Laughing at tea breaks and rowing callouses, speed bumps called humps, stories of identifying pregnant spies.
It is within unfamiliarity that new pleasure arises, thick amusement at the novel. I feel like I am back in third grade, dipping my hand into a paper bag, squealing at the many treasures I have stumbled, blindly, upon--not always seen, but felt in my very core, in my most ticklish of selves.
