we’ve got that

14 06 2011

we need love and peace

Matty and I are “away” for a few days, forty-five minutes from home, “isolated in the woods offline,” where I’m stealing a perfect internet signal from a neighbor with an unsecured linksys @ his friend David’s “camp” on the north shore of Oneida lake. “Camp” is the CNY name for a (usually small, usually somewhat rugged, but depending on your income and preferred styles of living these categories are totally optional) second residence somewhere near one of the thousands of lakes in the area. “Near” and “on” mean the same thing in the lexicon, if not in the geography. There are at least ten houses wedged into the space of 1-2 suburban properties between here and the water’s edge, which we couldn’t see anyway because of the thick trees. The road turns before, walking, we’d get there anyway, and we can’t hear water–this lake’s not big enough for that–just bug-song and bird-song through the open screens.

Dissertating: the verb in action

He’s on the yellow sofa with his laptop and a pair of speakers plugged into it, filling the little space–this is one of the little ones, but not that rugged, containing both a full kitchen and a bathroom–with Big Country, Depeche Mode, Epica, Band of Horses, and whatever else his iTunes (hsss) comes up with. I’m at the desk at the window, watching robins bounce around in the shorn yellow grass between this and the next shabby-little half-a-house and the wind toss the drooping limbs of whatever brand of evergreen is towering overhead. Currently, we have U2 singing a few-years-old throwback song to an earlier era and its safe, tight net of concerns, none of which are what I’m worried about today. Today–

but that’s the whole point: today we promise not to worry about the lawyers and the grant applications and the overdue seller’s repairs, not to worry about the stormcloud downstairs of the “old” apartment, not to worry about the plans we can’t solidify, the planes we can’t catch, the lack of cat-sitters lining up for the end of June, the class we have to be in all day Saturday to teach us how to be responsible homeowners (touch wood), coordinating and paying for the 8 hours of babysitting that class will demand, paying for anything else we can’t afford (i.e. everything), or how to (fail, again and again to) get an academic job we can live off of the salary from.

Today, full of homemade guacamole and “Nova Scotia style” beer, he’s scouring saved photographs of personal correspondences from the 1920s for useful biographical material to include in his dissertation, and I’m sipping cheap leftover wedding champagne with new, fresh raspberries out of a plastic wine-glass, editing the chapters of somebody else’s (every penny counts), listening to the grind and swell of those o-so-beloved guitars, and we’re not worrying about it. Any of it. We took a long break earlier to do a half hour of yoga together on the sunny wood on the tiny porch; we’re about to take another one for a little kissing, because I’ve decided he’s quite overdue. But right now, he’s focusing on his screen and I’m recording it on mine, and we have (or else) exactly what we need:

love and peace




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