Oh to be here.
Virginia, three weeks and then another. Mother not back from her European jaunt and having to wait. Better to stay, anyway. Six bedrooms and a big porch instead of that tiny apartment in Brooklyn Heights. Backyard to sunbathe in instead of sitting hunched up on the fire escape waiting on the shadow from the next building to move along.
A typewriter to work on and a phone to dial. The good part about writing things. Not needing much more.
Another magazine article done and a walk to the store for the paper and a dozen eggs. Bathing suit took out and an outing to go swimming.
Sunday and church and then everything coming around again. Most everyone moved away but not quite all. Tea with one and lunch with another.
The library the same with its cool places to hide surrounded by books. A few new ones, of course, but still with what even seems like the same tables and perhaps the same chairs. A different librarian, surely, but looking the same around the edges.
Back home. Another story due but the typewriter needing a new ribbon and the stores all closed. Not in New York, they would be. Open in the capital, but too far it is to drive. Better to wait.
But time and no one saying no. Bookshelf in the library and boxes covered with wallpaper with things in them. From their honeymoon trip to Europe but some pictures, too.
An hour and then another. Some with names on the back and others with none. But a nice one halfway down the stack. Three little girls holding kittens. Great grandmother and her sisters, they must be.
Sweet. So close they lived out of each other’s pockets but not for forever. Each one married to someone in the diplomatic corps and ending up living all over the planet .
But together then and happy . . . what really matters . ..all we have to be happy in is today.