These days I look back on the past with a certain longing. I've never been one to live in the moment, but now my visions of the past and future are as compelling as they've ever been.
While making my nightly mac and cheese this evening, I remembered the last time I used such an excessive amount of butter.
I drove back across the country from working on the east coast and visited law schools along the way. New York to Virginia to North Carolina to DC to Massachusetts to Maine to Michigan to Minnesota to Colorado to Berkeley to Seattle.
Part of what I miss so badly is family dinner™at the Estate. I talked to Phil this weekend and he waxed eloquent about the virtue of community. Yesterday, Alban left me a voicemail that sounded like his soul is crying out for our West Whitman community. I can't imagine a better life than one surrounded by the people I love while taking on the greatest challenges of our time (and by this I mean everything from world hunger to environmental destruction to greed--but back then it was Ginger-snap).
When I arrived in Seattle to crash at David's, Tommy was there (editorial note: I'm actually combining two trips, but don't worry about it). At some point during my stay, we were going to go play soccer, but hadn't eaten yet. I made Mac. With lots of butter. Mid-way through the game, David hobbled past me and moaned that I'd poisoned him. Tommy was darting around the field, drenched in his typical (and adorable) sweat. And the lights on the field cast our shadows in different directions only to be collected again at our feet.
If I could have died right then and lived forever in that moment, I would have.
Within the next decade we're starting a commune. Are you in?