Reading: Vogue (“the September Issue”). There are some good profiles of Texas State Senator Wendy Davis and Marissa Mayer if you are looking for content (but are you really?)
Watching: Ray Donovan on Showtime (why did I not really know about Liev Schreiber before?) It’s like an Irish Sopranos, but set in Los Angeles, and rife with so-bad-they’re-good Boston/ Irish stereotypes and Showtime’s characteristically un-subtle sex and plot twists. Jon Voight is awesome in it.
Cooking: Kale, like everyone else. This week, this salad (though I use Craisins, not dates).
Doing: Back-to-school shopping. Soccer cleats, three-ring-binders, pencil cases, pencil sharpeners (have not owned one of those in 20 years!), little boys’ underwear, backpacks, snack packs. And it hits me that I am no longer the parent of babies.
Listening to: Late August crickets. Which make me feel as if I am three or four years old and my father, in his scratchy green Army sweater (as in: actually given to him by the US Army during basic training in 1969), is carrying me home across some neighbor’s yards in Cape Cod from a cookout where I’ve fallen asleep on a couch or a spare bed. I was deathly afraid of crickets then and clung to him tightly, my head buried in his shoulder; now, just the sound conjures up the smell and feel of that sweater.