Wistful notes from the trenches:
Things I miss. Not exclusively because of the pandemic, though that’s not helping:
The first ice-cream truck of spring. There will be ice-cream trucks and one of them will be first. But it’s unlikely to be spring and it won’t be the same.
Poetry posters on the TTC: “Jenny kissed me when we met…”
Friday night dinners at La Palette, catching up on the week even though we’ve spent the week together.
Feeling as if we’re among family.
Root-beer floats.
Weekends in Buffalo.
Weekends in New York City.
Being within walking distance of a Porter Airlines flight there.
Long weekends in Paris, though it’s ages since I just dropped everything on a whim and went.
Dropping everything on a whim.
Berlin. Lisbon. Seville. Rome.
Paris.
Back-country hiking.
Saturday night stock-car racing at little rural tracks.
Road trips.
My football team, Sunderland, being in the Premier League.
My football team, Sunderland, being in the Championship league.
The days when that would’ve been First Division and Second Division.
Cartoons in The New Yorker being funny.
Not being afraid of strangers. Not all of them, anyway.
Deadlines.
Bylines.
Hair stylists.
Optimism.
Chequebooks. Nah, not so much.
Keeping my distance because I want to, not because I have to.
Not having to wash my hands every time I look at them.
Looking down and being able to see my feet.
Being able to touch my toes.
Being able to touch my knees.
Without washing my hands.
Going to the gym and whining. Being in the basement on my own and whining is far less satisfying.
Le Select bistro.
Feeling as if I’m among family.
Long, boozy lunches that segue into dinner.
Wine-snob dinners.
Takeaway hot-and-sour soup and ginger beef from the Taiwanese place at the top of the street. With Hey Song sarsaparilla.
Handshakes.
Hugs, even though I’m not much of a hugger. But it was nice to have the choice.
Seeing Easy Rider for the first time. And all the other times.
Street photography. Empty streets are not a challenge.
Having to remember what day it is.
The 1976 Mercury Cougar I had in Philadelphia, dodgy starter ring and all.
Life in the fast lane.
Life in the slow lane.
Life in the centre lane.
Life.
You… no, sorry, not you… YOU. Lots of you. Okay, some of you.
Friends.
Romans.
Countrymen? Don’t push me.
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