I’m posting this from my sister’s dining room table on a quiet Monday night. There’s occasional traffic whooshing by, but the deeper silence of rural upstate New York is profound.
I can hear the house sounds, the pad of the cat’s feet through the house, the muted footsteps of my sister puttering upstairs.
It’s a balmy evening — the Catskills are having a cool summer. The windows are open to catch the breeze and air conditioning is just a southern memory.
The only demand on me is just to be. To talk, to eat, to enjoy. The only fly in my ointment is a dead mouse battery (me and touch pads do not get along).
I’m tired, blissed out, and reveling in my role as baby sister — feeling pampered, cherished and beloved.
Life is great.