Huntingdon is soggy, cool, its lawns fresh cut. Here we have radio, coffee, spare birdsong, grey skies, a kitchen filled with vegetables. There is a satisfying slowness to all things here; morning, afternoon and evening slip into each other easily. It is firmly early-to-bed-and-also-to-rise, and at night, peering out of the second-story screen door of this borrowed house I see the backs of sleeping people’s houses, only a handful of lights scattered across the alley.
When I wake at 9:00 I am late to the day.
It is a place of great comfort to find myself, writing letters to potential employers about my Boundless Well of Enthusiasm and my Meticulous Attention to Detail.
It is also a place where the cat gifts come easy.
Technically this was sent to my parents’ house in the Poconos, but here in Huntingdon it has found its home, featuring flowers dried by Momcat.
from THE KNEPPSTEPS
Happy birthday to me indeed. So many buddies to carry around– do not believe my worried expression or hair of many emotions– these cats are tops. AND THEIR DANCING, zomg.
Sometimes a kind person not only offers you a completely radical project right out of graduate school, enabling you to move to the town of your dreams, but THEN THEY GIVE YOU THIS CAT OVEN MITT.
I wonder sometimes what I have done to deserve all of this affection.
Someday soon we will live in a not-borrowed house, and then I can show you where I’ll keep my wooden spoons now, thanks to Pam.