Parking at the “Clarkson Inn parking lot,” (which is not the Clarkson Inn parking lot at all, but nonetheless, is what we all call it.) This time, instead of pulling into the first available freebie, I opted for the pricey shaded spots. I have a baby now, you know.
Strolling past the theater, which I realize as an adult is a shabby looking building. I never noticed that as a kid. Potsdam was beautiful to me back then, and practically perfect. Being a kid is such a wonderful way to start life.
Walking down Elm, slowly, because we have a dog and a stroller between the two of us. Chatting about this and that, as we always do. Conversation flows easily while walking on Elm Street. We should know; we’ve done it for years.
Admiring the gardens in front of the Co-op, wondering for the umpteenth time whose job it is to plant such an abundance of perennials. I think I’d like that job, I think to myself, again. A cold iced tea (100% organic, wouldncha know), and we’re off.
A blanket by the river at Ives Park, the strong breeze whipping through our hair, cooling our sweaty faces. Watching students, dogs, kids, and men with fishing poles. Oh, here comes the Lady. You know — the one who only wears white, black, and khaki, and owns thee black and white dog? She’s the regular around Ives Park.
Coming home and not wanting to go inside after so many hours out. Checking on a sleeping babe, who is, amazingly, still sleeping. That sun and wind wiped him out.
These are familiar summertime vignettes. Two weeks from today, I’ll pack up my chubby baby and fly off to join his daddy. And our little family will create new summertime vignettes.
But nothing will replace the Old Familiar. They’re on reserve for the special trips Back Home.