"I don't know how to say this without sounding like a stoner ... but I seriously love all you guys."
Nick said it best.
Last weekend, we went backyard camping with Keefe, Kelsey, Kirk (who are siblings and have been friends with Nick since he was in high school). It's pretty much exactly what it sounds like: we pitched a tent in the yard, filled it with sleeping bags, cooked s'mores on the grill, and woke up when dawn shone through the green nylon sides of the tent.
Oh, and we made JiffyPop on the stove. So that's number 14 off the list.
14. Make JiffyPop on the stove.
It was one of the best nights I've had in a long time. There was laughter and general shenanigans and shared nostalgia.
The cat in the video above managed to escape out the screen door and ended up in the neighbor's yard. Kirk had to climb over the fence and retrieve him. We felt a mix of sheepishness and daring.
The marshmallows didn't get very toasted over the grill, but they were definitely gooey and made delicious s'mores. I had one for breakfast the next morning.
Poor Keefe is a restless sleeper and flails around a bit - it's partly sad, because you know he's not getting any rest, but it's also partly hilarious. We had to all press pillows over our faces to stifle our hyper, late-night hysterics. Nick was going crazy with laughter - I haven't seen him laugh that hard since college. It was great.
In all, it was a fantastic night. Hopefully I'll have many more such adventures this summer.
p.s. I'm going to be in Chicago for an interview - expect a post about that particular adventure soon!
Reconnected with Brit today - I can't believe it's been five years since we were in London. Five years since we, along with N. Bailey, made this little gem of a video for Apple's 2007 Insomnia film festival. Five years since I played a crazy game in a little Portland pub that was sort of like bowling but involved launching yourself at the pins. Five years since I got up at three in the morning in order to wait in line for day tickets with Brit and N. Bailey and Gonzalo. Five years since I've set foot on the Tube, or eaten at Chick Chicken, or played a homemade version of Apples to Apples which included cards like "Chernobyl" and "Lollies."
It stormed all evening yesterday. Lots of lightning (that video above is amazing, don't you think? the way the lightning branches out, questing around for the easiest path through the air?). There was actually a tornado warning.
Nick and I were in the middle of making dinner when it happened. We had some pasta cooking, so Nick stayed with it while it finished and then headed downstairs. We sat eating our dinner and then headed to bed once the warning was over. Well, I sat up and worked, but Nick needed to sleep so he could get up at 4am for work.
I love sitting in the dark, watching lightning light the curtains. As a kid, I was terrified of thunderstorms - it was the thunder, loud and unexpected. I hated being startled, and would wait until right after a loud crash of thunder to dash to my parents' bedroom, my pillow squashed over my hears.
Now, though, nighttime storms just make me feel quiet and centered. I love falling asleep to the lights and sounds of a storm.
I was lying there, listening to the rain. It was about midnight. The storm seemed to be picking up again, another cell passing overhead. The wind roared up, and the rain turned into hail. I could hear it bouncing off the roof and occasionally against the windows. It was unbelievably loud.
Nick woke up, and we went to look outside. It was torrential. We stood with the front door open, looking out into the darkness. You could hear heavy drops hitting the ground, mixed with marble sized hailstones. I kept trying to see if the lightning strikes revealed moments of blue sky, but all that registered was each brief flash of white.
The air smelled unbelievably clean. You've probably heard of petrichor, the smell of soil and dust after rain. This was different. The ozone produced by the lightning scrubbed the air clean, and the hailstones had pounded the evergreen shrubs in front of the house, releasing the sharp verdant smell of resin and sap. I wish I could have captured it. It smelled wild and fresh and dangerous and fierce, like the shattering, life-giving storms on ancient Earth.
Nick said, "Man, imagine being a plant in prehistory and experiencing this. I'd be like, 'Eff this, I need to evolve some bark, because every time it hails, I'm freakin' deaded.'"
We stood and took in the wind and downpour and thunder. And then, more philosophically, Nick said, "It makes you feel pretty small, doesn't it. We've gotten good at predicting it, but there's not much we can do about it when it happens."
Small, and fearful, and joyful. It's strange, and good, to be reminded that we're not in control. There are bigger forces at work, ones that are mindless and ungoverned. It's frightening, but also a bit freeing.
On a completely unrelated note, I actually managed to cross off another item from the list.
13. Learn to cut Nick's hair.
I watched a lot of how-to videos and then had at it. It wasn't a huge success, but it also wasn't a giant failure. I'm not sure if Nick's willing to submit to my amateur skills again, but he said he was impressed by and appreciative of my determination.
It's quickly turning into picnic weather - number 17, here I come.
