Sonnet for Sean

The Road to Florence

I read the maps, the guide books until my
head fairly swims with the unfamiliar:
the names of streets, plazas, the proper way
to greet a man or a woman, tips for
hiding the fact that I’m just an ugly
American at heart. Hard enough to
absorb it all, more so since I can see,
so neatly drawn out, the distance that you
will be from where I am—even the stars
will differ in our two hemispheres.
And yet, there is a piece of what is ours
that in me scoffs at such immature fears,
that, knowing what challenges lie ahead,
rises to meet them, arms calmly outspread.

The problem with having other people read your sonnets is that if they're not trained to recognize what makes a sonnet a good sonnet, it just looks to them like fourteen lines that rhyme here and there. It's not all about the iamb, people--give the spondee and the trochee their due! Ah, English jokes....speaking of English, yesterday when Sean and I visited Northwest, I introduced him to Mrs. Juda, our beloved fierce little AP English teacher, and was shocked when she started telling him what a wonderful girlfriend he had. Such a display of sentiment from her is rather surprising as she's generally a very sarcastic and blunt lady. Fitz, true to form, merely pointed out "whip marks" on Sean's back and asked if I'd fitted him for a collar yet. Unfortunately, I neglected to ask him if that "Dating for Dummies" book we gave him junior year has paid off yet.

The best of all was seeing Mr. Tressler. Sean kindly refrained from telling him, as he previously threatened, that he looked just like the tiger that is his namesake...I don't think he needs to know that Heather transformed a stuffed animal into a likeness by sewing on a mustache. I discovered that the HILL class is going to France this year--bitches! I hate them all! Last year they went to England, the year before that to Italy, and where did we go? THE SOUTHWEST!! Bah. The sting of that loss has not been forgotten, I tell you. Ok, our trip didn't suck as much as the class before us--the 9/11 bunch--they had to go to Canada. But you know I think both trips probably wound up being the same temperature. Now, the HILL class going to France means two things--number one, that when they hit Paris, a certain H. Flan had better be ready to swoop down and attack with witty comments and scathing criticism of Mr Tressler's organizational deficiencies, and perhaps the tale of Tumbly just for good measure. Number two, it means that I am now, more than ever, committed to making it to Portugal! Just for spite! Sara and I will go and dance upon the soil and shout curses in the language, which we do not know, and perhaps hunt down that boat made entirely of wine corks, which was really the only part of our itinerary which we had even discussed before George Bush ruined my life by invading someplace. Rae suggested we make a point of the four of us journeying to Portugal one day, and I agree, I also feel we should return triumphantly to the Southwest, no earlier in the season than May, or perhaps June to be safe. Oh well--watch it snow on us anyway, just for the hell of it.

Time to Say Goodbye

After Sean had left last night to return to Fairfield, I was really confronted with the immediacy of my departure. Now I'm feeling more sad, and more nervous--not about the change, or the culture shock, I don't think I'll have a problem with that--about leaving my loved ones behind. As independent as I pride myself on being, I think I will in fact have a hard time learning to adjust to a Sean-less life. In one year, the longest time we've gone without seeing each other is two weeks. We'll have to wait three times that to see each other in March, and then even longer till I come home. As I said to him last night, if I were still dating some of the guys he so charmingly dubbed the "MacDonald's hamburgers" (to his top sirloin), I'd definitely have many more reservations about such a separation. Everything will turn out ok, I know, but I think homesickness is going to be more of a problem for me than originally anticipated.

Tapping My Fingers...

I noticed today how many more people are on my AOL screen name's buddy list than my AIM one. Then I remembered how I've steadily pruned people off my AIM list, not just people I rarely talk to, but also people whose sole purpose on the list was to be AIM-stalked, plus some people I do kinda talk to but don't want to anymore, and then a couple of people who I just want to forget exist--muahaha. The result is that I've got about 20 people on my AIM list, which is small but just fine. Why bother with people I don't care about?

Last night, with nothing else to do, I spent three-and-a-half hours watching Seven Samurai, which is supposed to be Kurosawa's masterpiece. It was really good, better than the Magnificent Seven, though I like that movie too. I should email Dr. Brill and tell her how much I enjoyed it; she had us watch "Ran" for tragedy class, and it was incredibly intense. She also recommended Rashomon as another of his best films, so I got that from the library too. I have to say, Japanese is not the prettiest language, especially as samurai-actors tend to yell their lines a LOT for no apparent reason. I laughed out loud when one character in Seven Samurai actually asked another "why do you yell so much?".

Four more days of work. I can make that. Wednesday our CEO, Jeff Fluhr, is visiting, so they're paying us overtime to attend a dinner in his honor. I'll just pretend it's a send-off bash for me. They shorted me on my paycheck this week, paying me for 1 week instead of 3, so my director was nice enough to have the accounting people Fedex me another check that came this morning; I now have $1300 sitting at my right hand and mmmmm does it feel good! Today while my mom and I were shopping I saw a white rabbit-fur throw for $125, the softest thing you have ever felt, and I was so incredibly tempted. Well, not really tempted, because that is a ludicrous purchase and my mom would rather put me in a neck hold than let me buy fur, her enemy, but oh god, it would have felt so damned good! Why must such a delicious pleasure require the sacrifice of several dozen small mammals? Why can't they ever make a fake fur that doesn't feel fake? Bah. I wish I were rich and conscience-less, then I could buy fur, fur, fur and never care where it came from...

Anniversary

Where to begin the story of the fabulosity that was our anniversary weekend? Well, Friday night I took the train down to the Havens to play poker with Sean's friends, which is always a fun time. About ten people wound up playing, the only women being me, Richardson's mom "Happy" Richardson, and Little Richardson's rather pissy girlfriend who didn't say anything the whole game. Naturally, Sean and I both lost, and I still don't even know who won, because when we left around 1am there were still three people playing. It was a long game.

Saturday we came back up North, and yes there is a division because the Havens have no snow and we have plenty, to go the the bed and breakfast. It's called the Mansion Inn, it's in Manchester, and I absolutely recommend it to anyone and everyone! To begin with, it's an absolutely gorgeous place. Today we ate breakfast in the formal dining room, just six people but spread out on this massive table, and I felt like I was eating at Norland Park. Yeah, that's a little Jane Austen reference for you literati, you love it, I know. The innkeeper, Marianne, is an interesting woman, full of quirky comments, a former librarian and also justice of the peace who has married couples at the inn---cuteness! Our room was the "Lilac Suite", so named because the wallpaper was dark blue dripping with lilacs. It was amazing. The preciousness cannot be described. I didn't bring a camera unfortunately and then I was going to buy a disposable but then I decided, no, for once I will not rely on pictures to capture a moment, I will force myself to remember it on my own! Ok, so this room had a massive bed in one corner, with five gazillion layers because Victorians didn't like fluffy things, just lots of thin things. It had a fireplace. It had a sofa. It had a wood-lined study with the little roll-top desk thing, and old-fashion closet space, and a gorgeous art-deco peach-colored bathroom. It had a portrait of the girl who used to live in it, there was fresco by Marianne on the bathroom wall, there were two giant bookcases and--love this--a little sign that told you to take any book you wanted home with you (I took "Day of the Jackal", Sean took "The Fat Boy's Book"--long story). And, best of all, there was a diary--the diary of the Lilac Suite itself, with entries from all the people who have stayed there. It was so awesome to read people who had spent their wedding nights --one couple wrote that they had been married by Marianne--or their anniversaries in the same room. This morning, as I sat in the adorable little study, I wrote that I really hoped that the inn would become our anniversary tradition. It was so incredibly special--not the least because, you know, it was my anniversary of one year of being with sean, which is just INSANITY because it feels like we've been together for so much longer!

Oh, but the inn's fabulosity is not over. This morning we had breakfast with the two other couples who had been staying at the inn, both older couples, with such diammetrically opposed lives. One couple, Bill and Shelley Browne, were from Brandon VT, a town of 4,000, where Bill was the town pharmacist. The others, Richard and Thelma Boudreau, were from Baton Rouge. Richard, as it happens, is a foreign correspondent for the L.A. Times, and tomorrow he's leaving for Iraq for six weeks--he was already there last March. His wife travels the world working with developing nations on improving their water supplies--she mentioned Cambodia and West Africa as two places she's been. So it was very interesting, I really enjoyed the company if not the food, which was cinnamon french toast, blegh. I won't provide any graphic details about our private celebrations, but there was a fireplace with a couch in front of it, and that was awesome, enough said. Best anniversary ever, to go with the best boyfriend ever.

Muaha

So here I am, blogging sneakily from the Stub...muahaha. Luckily I do emails so quickly that I can basically chill out my last hour and I've still done more than anyone else. Thank you AIM for training my fingers to superhuman quickness.

I'm excited for the weekend, which is....drumroll.....my one year anniversary with Sean!!!! The only other guy I've had an anniversary with was Greg, and it was the day after we got back from the Southwest and I was so beat--we wound up going out for Chinese. Nice Chinese, my favorite chinese, but nothing spectacular. This time around--oh boy---we're doing it the old-fashioned way, a bed and breakfast in Manchester. So excited...fireplaces and antique books and all!

The time of departures has begun; Jen went back to Brooklyn and Rae to Wellesley, and I won't see either till May (guess which one saddens me more). On Monday Sara leaves, then Heather on Tuesday. People here at the office were talking about making plans for Friday the 13th and I was initially like ooooh but then ohhhhhhh, if that makes any sense...although the next day we will be making the trek to Norwood for Sean to meet the extended fam.

Only two weeks left at Stubhub. Yes. It's so hard to encompass the idea of actually leaving, and I haven't had the anticipated panic attack yet over leaving my mom behind alone....but neither have I attempted to teach her the internet, so we'll see how that goes.