07/05/25

    As H made a breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast I sat on the deck drinking coffee out of a handleless porcelain tea cup. Having the same breakfast you would have in the city but made on one of those white 90’s electric stoves in a well seasoned cast iron pan and served on the plates you had eaten off when you were a kid somehow makes something as simple as scrambled eggs taste amazing. 

    I could see the water through the trees, the strong morning wind making a rough impression on its surface. It would be a great day for sailing.

10:30 am

    We went out to buy materials for dinner. Windows down, sunroof open. H was driving fast testing the turbo of his Volvo sedan on the straight away of an empty country road. We blasted Bizarre Love Triangle. I imagined being in a shiny convertible sports car: red, something Italian. Driving in the 80’s, hair flying back with the wind, and hearing this song over the radio. We sang along as we drove through the dilapidated American town.

    Back at the house we changed into our swimsuits and went down to the dock. There was something in the sun. It was strong enough to make me squint my eyes but soft in its color. There was a lazy nature to the way it shimmered over the water. Fluffy clouds hung over the Adirondacks like the landscape dioramas in the Natural History Museum.

    I practiced my dive a few times before assuming a position flat on my back; tanning the front of my body for three or so songs then jumping in the water again. Next, lying on my stomach and picking up Murakami’s The Wind-Up Bird Chronicles. I had started reading this book about a week prior and had let myself be consumed by the constant twisting and layering of the narrative. I find that I’m attracted to Murakami’s books based solely on my affinity for his non-fiction works and that has set me up to be at a total loss for words when the main characters of his novels are so…soulless. Despite this I had not been able to put the book down. I read for 100 pages before jumping in the water again.

    By 1 pm I had repeated these acts about four times before the cousins and their children came to commandeer our attention and the entirety of the dock. I decided it was a good time to take a break from the sun and head up to the house for lunch.

    It was sweltering. Even with the strong breeze wafting across the deck and my bikini clad body, I could still feel the sweat accumulating on my forehead as we snacked on crackers and canned tuna. The songs of birds and laughter of the children permeated our surroundings as if carried by the wind.

    Itching to continue my reading I took my book and a towel to the grand lawn overlooking the water. The roar of boat engines and the annoying rhythmic buzzing of jet skis were battling the sloshing of the lake and the susurration of leaves. I drowned it all out, turning page after page.

    The day was passing by unceremoniously and without much being said. I liked a day like this; where utterly nothing happens and lackadaisical movements are encouraged. Laying here or there, not speaking but listening. Reading 300 pages of a book and drinking a beer in a big yard with plush green grass. Closing my eyes and feeling the sun on my skin.

    For a bit of socialization H and I visited the dock where the multitudinous family members were still gathered. The eldest children of the cousins are in their…mischievous phase. I entertained them by allowing the eldest son (12) to unknowingly attempt to drown me by pushing me into the water over and over. After escaping with the help of an adult and laying on the dock, the eldest daughter (10) made up story by traipsing her fingers from my toes to my stomach, unknowingly pointing out parts of my body I’m self conscious about; commenting on the shape of my toes or noting the size of a mole on my stomach. H went back up unable to read his book with the ruckus.

9:02 pm

    After dinner we went to the Windchill in P’s car. R in the front seat, H and K and I in the middle and G was curled up in the hatchback trunk. P rolled down the windows and we all sighed in cooling relief when he started speeding down the same country road H and I had been on in the morning. We joked about how we had all been drenched in sweat the entire day. G noted that there wasn't enough cool airflow to where he was sitting and that he was drenched in sweat. I played While My Guitar Gentle Weeps on the stereo and quietly mimicked the guitar parts. K threw out a “would you rather give up kissing or give up sauce?” Like all sauce? What is sauce? I preferred kissing.

    I was just tipsy enough, lingering from the wine we had at dinner, to feel like I was in a dream while we skinny dipped, bathed in light of the moon. Wading through lukewarm water, I looked back upon the lawn past the dock and could see the disordered flicker of fireflies in the darkness beyond. We spoke in whispers. I knew every word spoken could be heard bouncing around the property. Our dives crashed in the silence of the night. The sound of a cannon suddenly shot off reverberated through the bay. We looked to mountains as its rumble rolled like thunder down the lake. It seemed to travel for miles.

Playlist

You Still Believe In Me - The Beach Boys

Windows - Stan Getz

I Never Get Lonesome - Arthur Russell

China Doll - George Hamilton IV

Harvest Moon - Neil Young