august: remembering.

I label my writing by day, nothing else, never titles. So I have files and files full of unidentified writing. Some of it I remember vividly, the exact moment and emotion that triggered the words. Some of it I don’t remember at all. Those are my favorite - forgetting severs my emotional, possessive attachments and I can read with clean eyes. It's an incredible thing, to read something you know you wrote, but you can't remember writing it. At any rate, while digging through this mess today, I found what follows below. Technically I didn’t write it today...but I decided to share it today, so that counts.

15aug2012.
I’ve grown tired of running in the neighborhood we’re in right now, temporarily, for a few more weeks. It feels like any direction I run, there are hills at every inconvenient moment. At the moment when I need a flat stretch to keep going and find my second wind, there is a hill. So my lungs start to burn and my head spins and I slow to walk over the crest.

So last night, as the light was falling earlier still, we drove up the road to a man-made lake with a paved path around it. The path is flat and weaves in and out of cool low brush and stubby trees that smell of damp moss and wet dogs. The lake, I have heard, was made when they extended the Metro line out further into Maryland. I have heard that, for some time, this lake was just marked by a sign: Lake Metro. Now it has the name of a person.

I was surprised by the run because it felt good. I think it was the absence of the hateful hills. I forgot my headphones, so instead I was kept company by my footsteps, somewhat wheezy breathing, and a blue heron standing very tall and still beside the path. He was just dipping his toes in the water.

Jacob ran on ahead, faster, hoping to lap me and work a bit harder. I took my steps, slow and plodding, but my heart raced and sweat slid down my back. Afterwards, sweaty and red-faced, we got into the car and leaned forward so not to soak the seats. I unscrewed the lid off a jar filled with tap water and lime slices. I drank and we drove with the windows down.

When we got home, the sun was gone and cloudy storm skies made the evening feel late. We weren’t hungry but we were ready to eat. While he shaved, I sliced figs and slabs of brie and layered them in a cast iron skillet. He came out of the bathroom, clean-shaven, and drizzled the balsamic vinegar across the whole mess. I spooned raw honey from North Carolina over the top of everything, then stuck it under the broiler until it was melting and brown bubbling on top.

We used forks to scrape it out and lay it across crispy sesame crackers. It seemed it would rain any moment but it never did. The washing machine thumped steadily with our damp running clothes and the cat slinked through the legs of the table to his own dish of food. After the figs and brie, I served myself a slice of cold peach pie graced with a thin scoop of vanilla gelato. He made two pots of popcorn and shook it through with olive oil, nutritional yeast, cumin, cinnamon, salt, and pepper. We tried to watch a movie and eat our snacks, but fell asleep before it was done.