The Restorative Powers of Quince Trees, Red Wine, Tacos, and Summer Reading

There's a man in this house your golden hair Margareta

Last Friday's trip to the Cloisters was indeed restorative, although my small hour (or two) spent drinking red wine with C.C. in her apartment in the West Village was also soul-feeding (albeit a touch dehydrating). Then I flew to Bushwick in a cab and made it to the gallery just in time to see M.S.'s exhibit at Wayfarer's. Then she and her husband fed me tacos. (I didn't need to eat tacos probably but who turns down tacos?) The next day I was a little groggy from a lack of sleep, but I definitely felt like my psyche was well-rested, if that can be a thing.

From the garden at The Cloisters

Today I'm spending some one-on-one time with The Boy. I try to have "a day" with the kids each semester, a little time with each individually where I spoil them and treat us to a meal out where we can talk without their siblings interrupting or competing for attention. I've already done this with both girl-children over the past two weeks. Today's not only the last day of school for The Boy, it's also a ridiculously short day -- they go to school for about an hour -- so we'll have a good amount of time to get into trouble. The agenda includes taking him for a haircut at the barber up the street, Pete's, where a woman named Alma -- The Boy's favorite -- will coo and exclaim over him and inflate his little ego by calling him handsome while she cleans up his faux-hawk or whatever. 

I have decided that my yard needs quince trees.

The summer semester of teaching is almost over. Next week is the last week of classes and then I'm more or less "free" until mid-August. I have not adhered to my schedule for prepping my fall classes, but I'm all right with that -- things are going to move more slowly than I anticipated or hoped, but I'm more interested in slowing down than speeding up at the moment. That's what summer's for, right? 

Also: I'm reading and reading and reading. It's so nice to be inside other people's work -- inside their minds, their language, their music. Another respite from myself -- which, apparently, I need.