May '26
artist archives 005
The Nucleus of Spring
While my school term officially ended in April, the advent of summer break felt real when May rolled in. My father refers to the second and third week as “the Nucleus of Spring,” which is particularly fitting considering how full the schedule gets with end of the year recitals and graduations.
Around my odd-job work schedule (cleaning at a historic bed and breakfast, pulling weeds, resuscitating plants at P & G’s from my grandmother’s greenhouse, planting zinnia seeds, and helping an elderly lady with a broken wrist get her summer flower and vegetable gardens settled in) I was invited to a host of events (from thesis presentations & high school graduations to dance & music recitals to spring shows) that very quickly ate away at my weekends and evenings.
The homeschool theater troupe I was a proud member of in high school undertook a whale of a project by putting on a dramatized version of Herman Melville’s Moby Dick. (Pun intended, of course.) It’s been, I now realize, five years since I first tackled Moby Dick in a freshman seminar class with Mr. K, (husband of Mrs. K, theater director, funnily enough.) Melville’s characters are tactile and his world tangible and the story withstands the test of time, yet there is a fog of absurdity that hangs over the novel (or, in this case, the play). There is a certain strangeness that envelopes the characters, certain ways in which Melville uses language or dialogue or narrative to pull the audience from the suspension of disbelief to a blatant state of it.
Needless to say, I look forward to revisiting Moby Dick in my humanities class in the fall of 2027.
May was a quiet month for me. I spent most of my time working in gardens or going for walks down to the river, pausing always before the black walnut trees which catch the light so wonderfully in their leaves. I dug through drawers I haven’t opened in a while and made a major culling of my closet and belongings.
If I’ve been changed in any way since going to college in New Hampshire or Rome, it’s that the moment I get home I get rid of what feels like a fourth of the things that I own. There’s something about moving across the country twice a year that demands a lightness of person—you really learn what the essentials are. I’ve better learned the valuable lesson of only keeping the things that I either absolutely love or absolutely need (& appreciate things that are both.)
Much-Needed R & R (That is, Reunions & Reptiles)
May brought to me reunions with two of my dearest companions in life.
Toward the beginning of the month, my longtime dear friend CK wrapped up her first year of college. I had her last day marked on my calendar, anxiously awaiting the opportunity for us to reconnect. I had to hear about the conclusion of her second semester of her art degree; she had to hear about my semester in Rome. (We had talked some, of course, but both of us tend to shy from saying important things over the phone.)
Like any self-respecting melancholic, I envisioned us sharing our stories over never-ending cappuccinos or around a campfire. Of course, it happened that we ran into each other at the store the day after she got home. I was on an emergency run for whole coffee beans and she was braving the waters of swimsuit shopping. We screamed & ran across the store & hugged each other, gaining the disapproval of fellow shoppers & exchanged the short story of how things had been since we last saw each other.
A few days later, I recruited her into helping me to set up & serve at a party for a (startlingly wealthy) friend of a friend. We tucked away into the laundry room to wash the china tea sets and our souls were bared to one another over suds and dish towels. Good and bad news was exchanged; there was squealing, there was the swallowing of lumps in the throat, there was much joy—and at the end of it, a deep understanding and peace and gratitude welled deep within me. I carry with me still the true and enduring happiness which followed our reconnection. Certainly, the author does not lie when he says that, “Faithful friends are a sturdy shelter; whoever finds one finds a treasure” (Wisdom of Ben Sira 6:16).
At the end of May, my Roman lover came down to visit me and meet my family. I filled up my car with gas to drive to the airport the morning of May 21st, rain pouring down the slope of the concrete drive and filling my ballet flats with water, in the yellow rain jacket I’ve taken with me from New England to Rome, which is in fact not waterproof, as A reminds me every time I make the mistake of wearing it.
We spent a long weekend catching up and enjoying Oklahoma’s late spring (picking a wildflower bouquet to give to my little sister after her appearance in the ballet Les Sylphides, having fancy Sunday lunch on the windy lake, watching Song of the Sea for the first time, kayaking the cove at my grandparents’, etc). It was wonderful to see him and I did not make it home from dropping him off at the airport with dry eyes.
A few days after D returned back to North Country, a giant tortoise wandered into the yard. My family was (and still is) utterly stumped as to where he came from. My sister-in-law is our source for any question pertaining to tortoises, and she told us that Sheldon (as I decided to call him, on account of his having a shell) was a breed of tortoise not native to our region, thus suggesting he was someone’s escaped pet and we ought to tuck him away and take care of him.
By the time that the verdict was cast and I went out to see if Sheldon was still nestled in the wisteria bush, he had already wandered away on his next adventure. I haven’t caught sight of him since, and I do wonder who he belonged to and whether he’ll ever make it back to them. In a way I understand Sheldon’s wanderlust; there is something about early summers in Oklahoma that just begs for a change of scene…
+AMDG+
So fun! I love this glimpse into your mind and heart.
Enjoyed the read - and at least a visual meeting with Sheldon. Looking forward to the next episode!