2020-08-03 01:43
When all this is over we will remember the routines we made in these out of the ordinary times.
We will remember the lunches we had on our shaded patio every single day.
How I learned to make Bao, the perfect sushi rice, fresh pasta, Japanese Milkbread, fish tacos, salmon tartines worthy of any fancy restaurant, and how we had Swedish pancakes on Sundays.
We’ll remember how the sun made its way through the ceiling of oak tree branches and created glittering spots of light on the table.
How our collection of serving bowls and platters had to grow substantially because my culinary adventures demanded it- and how fun it was to search for, and then find, the perfect vintage pieces for sauces, salads and potatoes.
We’ll remember the afternoon naps we took on the small patio sofa, entwined ~just so~ to fit. The sound of a leaf blower somewhere in the neighborhood, the wind chimes we’d not been able to locate, the smell of weed drifting over from the girl living next to us, the toddler screaming in the house across, the buzzing of a hummingbird flying by over our heads, and the fighting between the two squirrels that both seemed to have decided they alone deserved to live and reign in these tree tops.
We’ll surely remember the evening walks. Up and down dwindling streets, muffled hellos through face masks to neighbors we didn’t know we had before. The cheery HI! from the celebrity that always seemed so happy to see us even though we’d never met and didn’t know each other.
The street corners where the sun always blinded us if weren’t wearing sunglasses, the hills that raised the pulse, the ugly party house where we once saw an inflatable flamingo that had flown over the wall and onto the street.
We’ll also remember the sandwiches we ate on the balcony after our walks, right when the sun was setting behind the trees. How we could sit out there every single evening and never tire of it.
(We’ll always remember the love we have for our house.)
We’ll remember all the movies we watched (maybe not exactly what they were about- we all know I forget every movie five minutes after the credits has rolled), how it took us forever to choose which 90s action movie we wanted to rewatch that night, and David’s shock when he learned I had not seen a particular film (only to realize 30 minutes into the movie that I had, in fact, already seen it).
How my (already staggering) popcorn consumption went through the roof those months, but movies demand popcorn, and we saw so many; curled up on the sofa, forgetting for a little while that outside roared a pandemic.
The world this year was upside down and the history books will be full of statistics, facts and data that will shape the way we see our future for many many years to come. Injustices came to the surface and people will have too many memories of unfairness and stuff they wish they could forget.
But these things here are for us to choose to remember when the books will not.
We will remember the lunches we had on our shaded patio every single day.
How I learned to make Bao, the perfect sushi rice, fresh pasta, Japanese Milkbread, fish tacos, salmon tartines worthy of any fancy restaurant, and how we had Swedish pancakes on Sundays.
We’ll remember how the sun made its way through the ceiling of oak tree branches and created glittering spots of light on the table.
How our collection of serving bowls and platters had to grow substantially because my culinary adventures demanded it- and how fun it was to search for, and then find, the perfect vintage pieces for sauces, salads and potatoes.
We’ll remember the afternoon naps we took on the small patio sofa, entwined ~just so~ to fit. The sound of a leaf blower somewhere in the neighborhood, the wind chimes we’d not been able to locate, the smell of weed drifting over from the girl living next to us, the toddler screaming in the house across, the buzzing of a hummingbird flying by over our heads, and the fighting between the two squirrels that both seemed to have decided they alone deserved to live and reign in these tree tops.
We’ll surely remember the evening walks. Up and down dwindling streets, muffled hellos through face masks to neighbors we didn’t know we had before. The cheery HI! from the celebrity that always seemed so happy to see us even though we’d never met and didn’t know each other.
The street corners where the sun always blinded us if weren’t wearing sunglasses, the hills that raised the pulse, the ugly party house where we once saw an inflatable flamingo that had flown over the wall and onto the street.
We’ll also remember the sandwiches we ate on the balcony after our walks, right when the sun was setting behind the trees. How we could sit out there every single evening and never tire of it.
(We’ll always remember the love we have for our house.)
We’ll remember all the movies we watched (maybe not exactly what they were about- we all know I forget every movie five minutes after the credits has rolled), how it took us forever to choose which 90s action movie we wanted to rewatch that night, and David’s shock when he learned I had not seen a particular film (only to realize 30 minutes into the movie that I had, in fact, already seen it).
How my (already staggering) popcorn consumption went through the roof those months, but movies demand popcorn, and we saw so many; curled up on the sofa, forgetting for a little while that outside roared a pandemic.
The world this year was upside down and the history books will be full of statistics, facts and data that will shape the way we see our future for many many years to come. Injustices came to the surface and people will have too many memories of unfairness and stuff they wish they could forget.
But these things here are for us to choose to remember when the books will not.
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