The Things I Miss
I miss my friends. I miss my family. I miss my routine and my regular life and popping in to a restaurant for a bite to eat and sitting at a bar and theatre and travel and movies and museums. Doesn’t everyone? There are so many little things I miss, too … and so, in no particular order and in varying degrees of missingness, here are some of them:
Holding other people’s babies. Sometimes in my life of having no babies of my own, there would be cousins or friends or friends of friends having a baby, and I’d get to hold it. I love to hold the baby. I LIVE to hold the baby. There are no opportunities during COVID to hold the random baby.
Thousand Island Dressing. Or, a good Green Goddess. Everyone once in a while there would be a conference or some lunch at the Chase Center and there would be a gravy boat of a dressing you’d *never* buy for yourself, and you’d get a little taste of Thousand Island or Pepper Parmesan or just something besides the Trader Joe’s variety you have in your fridge. I’m so over a homemade salad.
Friends of friends. I’m in touch regularly with my closest friends, and less regularly with other friends - and I miss them *in person* desperately. But I am missing the friends of my friends - the ones you’d run into at a barbecue or a guest bartender or sporting event and chat with, catch up with, and enjoy the company of for a bit of time. Like, did whatsherface’s cousin’s crazy boat wedding actually happen? This is what I may never know, after two years of not having the annual Phelan Lucky event and after a year without the Turkey Fry.
Dover. This time of year, in my line of work, I should be spending a fairly significant amount of time in Dover, chatting with advocates and legislators and their aides, and watching the way our state government works. I’d be sizing up the opposition to my bills, revising my testimony on my laptop and furiously finding a legislative aide to print it for me. I’d be making eye contact with the cowards that don’t show up to vote and don’t take meetings, and I’d be enjoying 45 uninterrupted minutes on the drive there and back. I miss the thrill of the good parking spot and the BLT on rye from the basement cafeteria.
A clean house. Like, a really clean house. Every once in a while in the old days, our gem of a housecleaner would do her magical work, and no one would be home the whole day, and I would get home first and get to exist in a spotless home all alone for a minute or an hour or sometimes even half a day.
Coming home. Like, I go to the grocery or meet a friend for a walk or run an errand or pick the kids up and return home, but I never leave for 7 or 8 hours at a time and come home at the end of the work day, having missed my family and my house and eager to sit and hear about everyone’s day. Now, I am surrounded by everyone’s day all the time. There is no reason to ask anyone “how was your day” when I was intimately involved in most of it. I miss not knowing how everyone’s day was.