Home.
I open the door and smile out loud. I have arrived to my hotel room, alone for the first time in a long time, settled in for an introvert’s dream of a night. There is a view of both city and ocean. There is cable TV, complete with a guide channel. There are robes and slippers and lots of pillows, all crisp and white.
I order a chopped salad and a mini bottle of champagne, hoping to host my own celebratory party in anticipation of an exam tomorrow. I receive a phone call shortly after… we’re out of this champagne; would you take that?
Of course, of course. Whatever is fine. I’m the gal who answers to the wrong name and takes a mixed-up order at a restaurant. I do not wish to make a scene. Whatever is fine.
The knock at the door is navigated with awkward pleasantries and masks and will you please hold the door so I can set this down and sign the receipt? Did you just arrive to town? Welcome. I brought you two glasses just in case, the kind employee says. Slightly confused and perpetually embarrassed, I tip well and hastily close the door. Only then am I able to assess what has been ordered to my room… a full-sized bottle of champagne, complete with a bucket of ice.
Only mildly concerned about what the hotel staff think of me ordering an entire bottle for myself at 5pm, I immediately set about my next task. We do not waste; I must research how to save the rest and get it back home on an airplane. Did you know a metal spoon, inverted in the bottle, purportedly preserves the bubbles? Perhaps a water bottle saves us. Stay tuned. I’m headed to the steam room.
Here we go again… diving headfirst into an unknown element of healthcare, studying for a certification exam, reaching for what’s possible in my community. I love raising daughters who get it.
One of my favorite new connections here involves a long walk from my car and a murmur about the last time a rapid test was taken; boots come off at the door and slippers are offered. Wine is served in ceramic mugs. There are radishes in soup with a garnish of cilantro, and belly laughs six feet apart in a cozy cabin, while dreams are shared about life and love and career and adventure after a pandemic. Slowly but surely, I’m finding my people.
Our family lost an aunt last week. She lived a good life, but not nearly long enough, and one marked and ended by cancer.
This was a first of sorts, both for my kids and for my life in Alaska. I felt a significant and sacred obligation to support our family, near and far, and to make space for our children to acknowledge a loved one’s passing.
The night we learned of the death, we turned off all of the lights and stepped outside with candles, each lighting theirs off of another’s. We asked aloud for comfort and peace for family left behind, and whispered thanks for a sweet life of memories we get to keep for our remaining years.
And as we have done so many times in the days since we moved, we turned to a faith not our own, a faith unfamiliar and familiar all the same, a faith that has sustained families through good times and hard for millennia. We borrowed the Jewish prayer of the Kaddish, a prayer that is reportedly only uttered in gathered groups, so as to share grief in the context of supportive community. How beautiful.
Rest easy, Aunt Brenda.
One of the many amazing things about having twins is the obvious, mysterious, unexplainable connection ours share. We call it their twintuition, a phrase they only enjoy when they’re getting along. I stopped taking notes years ago, but I’d like to start again. Sneezing at the same time in different parts of the house is only the beginning.
This week alone, they…
Lost a tooth in the exact same spot.
Received the same score, multiple times on multiple nights, during our new favorite family game.
Leaned into me, wedged between them during church, to whisper the same feedback on a song at the same time.
It’s a magical world with these two.
Perfectly content to be the gal perpetually on the quest for the perfect red lipstick, despite the reality that she wears it only rarely.