Little Island, July 2021
I tried to send my Grandmother an Amazon Echo Show. She’s 88, by all our estimates. Even she isn’t sure of her exact birth year, having been born in the Canton countryside where they didn’t give out birth certificates. She’s doing well but sometimes she can’t hear me on the phone. So I thought I would get an Echo Show, program it, and mail it to her. It got lost. Ten days after my sister received her package in Vancouver, which I had mailed at the same time, I realized that the USPS clerk had likely typed the wrong address into the customs form. Even though I wrote the correct address in big purple block letters, the package never arrived at her apartment. The USPS called me to say they’re looking for it but we think it’s been stolen.
I haven’t seen my family in Canada for 1 year and 8 months now, as I’m sure I’ve told you. As the U.S. opens up, we have been traveling again, flying. My hairstylist told me about her reunion with her sisters, one of whom flew in from London. (“They let her in?” I asked, incredulous. I guess because she’s American, they don’t care that Delta variant was rampant in the UK. Though it doesn’t matter, I guess, because it’s rampant here now.) L and I are heading to the Hamptons again for a long weekend this month. We try to make the most of our weekends because we hardly see each other during the week. I plan our vacations until an inch of their lives. But does anyone else feel like the more pressure we put on ourselves to have fun, the less fun we have? My favorite moments this month have thus far been unplanned: going to The Strand in UWS and getting caught in a torrential downpour while leaving with a tote bag full of books, one of which is Sibley’s Guide to Birds; a perfectly cool summer evening leaving the Delacorte Theater after a magical Shakespeare in the Park. (Yes, we had to be vaccinated to sit in the maskless ‘Full capacity’ section but you could also choose to sit in the masked ‘Physically Distanced’ section.)
Another favorite moment is picking our cherry tomatoes. We (and by ‘we’ I mean ‘L’) grow a variety of herbs and usually cherry tomatoes in patio containers on our balcony. The herbs have taken off this year because of the heat and humidity. I am constantly cutting and drying basil, sage, mint, and using up our green onion, dill, and chives. But harvesting our tomatoes, little orbs of light that you have to sift through the greenery for, is my favorite part. My hands touch the leaves and release their tomato leaf scent, one of my favorite scents. Every time I am out there, I am so grateful to be able to smell again. The dreadful memory of those five months without tomatoes and strawberries and coffee is never far away. The little tomatoes hang defiantly in clusters, and only gentle fingers will bring them down without a scratch. The ones that are split, well, too bad, a quick rub and into my mouth you go, a sun-warmed splash of light. Usually, I have too many to eat and I freeze a bunch to last us through the winter months. This year, though, I’m looking for the perfect tomato recipe. It’s actually been harder than I realized— tomatoes seem to be a garnish or an afterthought rather than the star of any dish. Don’t worry, I’ll change that. If anyone has a good tomato recipe, please pass it along!
Lastly, I was interviewed on a Greek radio medical show about hemorrhoids and fecal incontinence. That was an experience, sitting in a studio in Queens late at night with a microphone and a headset. If you read Greek, check out the Hellas FM website. Otherwise, watch this space here and I’ll send a link when I get it. I was also interviewed for a podcast called Tabooty about colon surgery and also for a chapter in a book about women in surgery. I guess people want to hear what I have to say? Again, watch this space. One of my poems was accepted six months ago and will finally be published on August 11 in The Bookends Review. If you want to read about me not writing, check out my new publication, The Recovering Surgeon, and the first piece, Writing About Not Writing.
Lots to write, so little time.
Until next month, always go black tie!