I’m on the plane. There are impressive puffy clouds out the window. I’m just returning from dropping M of for her last year of college.
I realized last night, as I left her mostly unpacked in her new apartment, that helping her move in felt like tucking her in before bed when she was little. We arrived on campus yesterday morning with two suitcases to find all of her stored boxes safely piled in her room in the new apartment. We managed to get everything out of the boxes and put away, and new shampoo and a dish drainer purchased before I left, late last night, to return to the hotel. I left her the box of posters and Christmas lights to put up today, when she can think about where she wants to put them.
The thing M misses the most, she says, is the ocean. But she also says that as compensation, Ohio has consistently wonderful skies.
It was fun to have her home for two weeks, and it was also fun to fly to Ohio with her.
I miss her. We’re pretty companionable. We both like time alone, but we also like to do things. On Sunday we drove down to Pacifica to see a show, 50 x 50, at the Sanchez Art Center. We’d gone to see one artist, but ended up completely captivated by some tiny owl paintings by David Molesky. The drama of the backgrounds reminded me of Caspar David Friedrich, whom I had never heard of until Nora and I saw a show of his in Stockholm purely by accident. (Oh, really. Click the Molesky link. They are so wonderful. A bit smaller in person.) They were particularly interesting because they are sort of like what M has been thinking about doing for her thesis, which, if I understand it, is a kind of blending of real and unreal in a naturalistic setting. So it was good to see that someone else — a professional — has also thought of this.
And then I got up very really and drove to the airport, arriving quite late but making my plan easily. That’s the reason to live near a small airport. And I finished Mother Night, which M had passed on to me from N. (She finished it on the way out. N finished it on the flight to Italy.) And I noodled around a bit on the computer. And then I read Alison Bechdel’s are you my mother?, which is fabulous.
And now I am home, and hungry.