Good Little New Englander
I'm not taking it off my doorknob.
One of the people I love most in this world put a yurt on my doorknob before leaving New England. I haven't told her yet, but when I think about her not being next door, or even a twelve hour car-ride away, I get a little misty. I've heard that it's just Not Done, especially in this rather stoic region, to let anyone see you cry before they leave. It's bad luck, might make them rethink the trip, it probably makes them a little guilty or maybe even glad to go. We're not big on emotions up here.
But.
Now that she's safely in Hawaii I can tell you I cried like a baby when I saw her car leave my mother's driveway. And I cried like a slightly more grown up later that night when I realized I still have the broken potato peeler, and she won't be back anytime soon to break more of my utensils. And I cried a bit, inside, yesterday when she had to close up the laptop in the airport because her plane was finally boarding.
What can I say? She's still an email or phone call away, like she has been for the last however many years, but it's feeling a little different now. She's one of my best friends. I would never have guessed it growing up, after the bitter fights we had, and yet here we are. And it makes me selfishly sad, and also so, so happy that she has this amazing opportunity, and I want nothing more for her to get what she wants.
And that yurt is staying exactly where she left it.
One of the people I love most in this world put a yurt on my doorknob before leaving New England. I haven't told her yet, but when I think about her not being next door, or even a twelve hour car-ride away, I get a little misty. I've heard that it's just Not Done, especially in this rather stoic region, to let anyone see you cry before they leave. It's bad luck, might make them rethink the trip, it probably makes them a little guilty or maybe even glad to go. We're not big on emotions up here.
But.
Now that she's safely in Hawaii I can tell you I cried like a baby when I saw her car leave my mother's driveway. And I cried like a slightly more grown up later that night when I realized I still have the broken potato peeler, and she won't be back anytime soon to break more of my utensils. And I cried a bit, inside, yesterday when she had to close up the laptop in the airport because her plane was finally boarding.
What can I say? She's still an email or phone call away, like she has been for the last however many years, but it's feeling a little different now. She's one of my best friends. I would never have guessed it growing up, after the bitter fights we had, and yet here we are. And it makes me selfishly sad, and also so, so happy that she has this amazing opportunity, and I want nothing more for her to get what she wants.
And that yurt is staying exactly where she left it.