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The Winter of My Content

Like Churchy, the three-legged turtle who summers in the vegetable garden, I think I’m ready to accept my winter fate. Unlike Churchy, I will try to refrain from hurling my body against the walls of my terrarium, insisting on one more romp in the garden, which we non-reptiles know is torn up and about to freeze over for the duration. Keith has been bringing Churchy in at night, but even so, the turtle spends his sunny afternoons digging into the garden, under the sod or the uprooted tomato vines, as if his people have abandoned him. I know how he feels; maybe it’s come to this: every reptile for himself. If you don’t have a ride home and don’t feel like hitchhiking, you best find a cot in the back and hunker down.

I’m ready for a long winter’s nap. I’ve had two straight long weekends of crazy partying. First, I worked out a lot of issues from my first marriage playing Gladys, the slightly embittered but forgiveness-minded ex-wife of Luke the Drifter. (If more explanation is required, please refer to previous blogs.) And I spent this past weekend in NYC, visiting my sister and her family and catching up with friends I haven’t laid eyes on in about 12 years. I took my teenage daughter, who’s been begging to visit her NY family. On Friday, we stumbled into the Occupy Wall Street protesters, where Grace jumped in to occupy some photo opportunities, including one representing the “Fart Smeller Movement.” There was only one fart smeller—the guy holding said poster—which is why I didn’t make a big stink (heh, heh) about the lack of an apostrophe, plural or otherwise, on the poster.

We packed a lot into four days. She bought red pants. I got black boots. We toured the Met. She met some of my old friends for the first time since she was three, and I got to see their beautiful faces in real life, not just on facebook. Tonight, Grace and I both wished we had a day or two to regroup and rest, to take it all in before we go back to our routines of work and school. I feel like I’m ready to start digging in, to build a nest under the dry uprooted vines and revert to the far less interesting person that I truly am. For a very short time, two long weekends in October, I was practically fascinating. Now I’m just exhausted. However, like Churchy, my fun-filled days have left me too fat to fit back in my shell. Just means I’ll have to dig a deeper hole to hibernate in, I guess.
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