Susan Senator

I love extremes, anywhere in life. The first few chews of gum, for example, are as brightly delicious as the last chews are horrible. Is there any other food around that presents us with such extremes? Soft, pink, squooshy, sweet, mobile at first; small, dented, and rocklike by the end. (my theory is that once you blow the first bubble, it is the beginning of the end. The exposure to air saps it of its juiciness. You have to resist the lure of the tongue forcing the rubbery flatness into a sphere on your lips. So hard to do. You make the choice: longer lasting sweetness until it fades slowly vs. playful bouncy bubble-blowing and a shorter life)

It’s kind of like living creatures: babies are just about universally beautiful (except, I suppose, for the Seinfeldian case of the Singularly Ugly Hamptons Baby): round and perfectly miniature body parts, sparkly, nonjudgmental eyes, rosebud mouths. And kind of decrepit at the very end — not that there’s anything wrong with it. Actually, flowers, too, are loveliest when first opening, and then, of course, at their demise, you just shouldn’t know from it. Withered, brown, wrinkly, drooping, and the only scent left is usually an overly ripe faintly garbagey smell.

Also, it was the most perfect summer day. Every cheery cliche imaginable: warm, close air; sparkly sun; blue sky; good smells on the breeze; the faint sound of mowers; birds singing their wacky repetitive songs. As well as a few thunderclouds at around 5:30, the kind with strangely bright sun radiating around the edges, which turn the sky dark purple. I call it Thunderlight.

Today was the extreme opposite of yesterday. Today I had a firm grasp on my family and how to interact with them in the most pleasurable way. We came up with our Daily List for Nat, and he smiled through breakfast. I ran errands with Max and Ben, newly released from school. We got a treat when we were done. I had a bite of a Finagle Bagel. Iced coffee. I mowed the lawn, and did a great job of it. I weeded and hacked at the plants that were beginning to snake their way around my house, arbors, and roses. I walked with R around the Reservoir, with her little maltese Maggie, a white snowball of a dog whom I adore.

And when he got off the bus, Nat found the Evening List waiting for him, and there was very animated silly talk the rest of the night. I could just feel that there’d be no outburst. I was linked up with him and he with me. Occasionally I would hear his silly talk soften into light laughter, making me feel slightly drunk with joy. The light poked out from him and lit up our dinner with gorgeous, bubbly happiness. The contrasting kind of happiness that can only come from the relief of something very dark and heavy. Thunderlight.