window in the sub

Dear Nathaniel,

I am microwaving pie that Mom bought up in Oak Glen this week on her way home from the orthodontist. As I put it in the microwave, I was full of sadness that I was not in Oak Glen with her. Why did I not go? I was working. I want to see the trees turn. I want to wander slowly through autumnal gift shops. Under the water, you cannot sense the approach of the seasons. Even here it is difficult because, after all, it's California. But I can still sense it. After three seasons in Illinois and one in Scotland, it must be with me for good. Or at least for a while. Because I am all abuzz with eagerness for fall and winter, for turkeys and dried leaves and Santa. I should start cooking again this fall. Fall foods are my favorite. Baked squash dripping with melted butter and brown sugar, pumpkin soup... this year, if I have enough money, I will put together a holiday dinner for my friends. And we will drink Scandinavian mulled wine, which is the most wonderful thing I have ever tasted. But it's really expensive to make from absolute scratch. A million ingredients. And no, I will NOT go to IKEA for a cheap substitute!

Mike has gotten over her flea problem, it seems. Well, not entirely. She still won't go in my room, where the fleas took up happiest of residence in my sheep skin rug. But she was lying on the floor in the living room yesterday, and that is a big deal. I am assuming we told you she has fleas. The doctor gave her this magical oil that gets dripped on her neck and then seeps back up through all her oil glands and kills the fleas off on contact! Very sneaky. But there are still bazillions of them in the carpet, and she has been fearful of the floor ever since. Imagine being afraid of the floor. It makes life very difficult for her. Last night, she almost tried to walk from the recliner (I let her up there because of the fear) to the window sill by walking on the arm of the couch. Which, as you know, is absurdly narrow, being made of rattan or whatever that is. Eventually she gave up and braved the floor for a meerest second. She doesn't mind uncarpeted floors, of course, so she'll travel from the kitchen to mom and dad's room (which IS carpeted, but which has been vacuumed the most due to Mom's paranoia - she feels fleas everywhere - that Mike got over that room first of all) via the bottom of the bookshelf. This might make more sense if you were a little more familiar with the placement of furniture in the house...

Anyway.

Amanda flew off to Guatemala last week. I drove her to the airport before five in the morning, then came straight home and slept through most of the rest of the day before going to work at four and being grumpy till we left sometime after midnight - despite all my napping. It was good to drive her to the airport, though. I felt it was the only really good time I spent with her the whole week she was here. Not entirely... we went to my favorite coffeeshop, Portfolio, and had a feast of delightful foods and she studied Spanish and I wrote the beginnings of a story in my new red journal. But the rest of the time she was here, I was mostly working or in a grumpy mood. These moods must stop. They must have no hold over me!

While I am typing, my apple pie and coffee are getting cold. You are worth it, of course.

It is a hazy day. I can see the islands and some trawlers off the coast (I don't think they're really trawlers. I don't know what trawlers are, but I like the word.) but the sky is grey and the sun has little purchase on the landscape. There is a guy in the front yard laying sod. It's about time - we've had nothing but dirt for over a month. I am pretending that he cannot see me in my nappy hair and bathrobe, staring right back at him. He probably can't see much of me... I hope.

I love you and wish you were here. I really think of you so often lately. I am very glad I have a brother. And I am glad it's you.

love,
me

note on the text: if any of my readers begin to think themselves superior and exclusive for having such an intimate view of my personal correspondence, temper yourselves with this knowledge: this is an edited version of the original, available only to my brother's eyes and the eyes of whatever people back in Washington are responsible for filtering submariners' email. so there.