I just spent the weekend at my parents’ house. Saw my siblings, my niece and nephew. Very relaxing. Very nurturing. It feels good to connect, check in, have dialogue.
I came home on the train, complete with an insulated bag filled with single-serving meals — chicken marsala, chicken cacciatore, beef barley soup, a homemade corn muffin. My freezer is filled with my mother’s love.
On the train, a two-hour ride each way, I wrote a section of my book, read the Sunday New York Times, wrote an essay on an idea I’ve had lately.
Now that’s a weekend.
