Returned from my return

I got back yesterday (about a year ago) from a week's visit to Connecticut (wait, I don't still live there?) with a day visit to New York (about five years ago) embedded.

The time dilation was astronomical and cohesion of experience entirely subordinated. Steve and I found ourselves unable to plumb the concept of a San Franciscan domicile within about 12 hours of our arrival last Tuesday. Assimilation into Connecticut life came swiftly and cleanly -- conversing about cars, dogs known as doods, real estate, tractors, humidity, Eastover; waking up to sunlight, which, bounced off of all that humid verdure, took on a golden crystalline aspect that both energized and soothed; and then morning broke on the crowning event of the visit -- an enatic family reunion.

Said family reunion, from marinated kabobs to souvenir t-shirts to Eastover's Erik-trimmed lawns, went off completely hitch-less-ly. My mom and Mary had the clever idea to color code the t-shirts according to branch of the family, so that the Freddie Pratts (my mom and Mary's dad) all received purple, the Teddie Pratts all received red, the Tracy Pratts all received blue, and the Butlers all received green. The brilliance of this idea became clear once the t-shirts were dispersed and donned -- almost immediately the family was aware of the tendency to clump within one's "color." This led to a sense of belonging, certainly, but also made later evidence of more widely dispersed comingling a satisfying visual collage.

I realized I have awesome cousins, all within 9 years of my age, athletic, friendly, wry and quick. This would be the result of excellent breeding, no matter what everyone says about their first marriages. ;0)

The trip to NYC was brief and phantasmagoric. We caught up with old friends and walked north along Central Park West for an hour, simply taking it all in. Sponsored by Steve's parents in their upper west side apartment, we gazed at the Hudson from the 23rd floor and slowly picked out the shapes of passers-by from the frenetic beige of the buildings.

Planes lead to the staccato of experience, it is widely agreed. But I must say, the train we took to and from NYC was no more skilled in adhesion than its aviatior counterpart. Steve and I bore a swollen sense of dislocation with a stoic cry of wee-wee-wee all the way home...and I find myself at work today sorting through a disjointed collage of contentedness.

I raise a toast upon the memory of an icey bottle of Sam Adam's Summer Ale -- Here's to family!