My friend Trisha goes to Vermont each year and stays near a town that is right near where my blog friend Indigo Bunting lives (and Lali as well).
For a long time Trisha would say, "Sally, you would love Vermont," and then goes on to describe some hardscrabble hippie thing that is just. like. me. And she's right. I would love Vermont.
The tenor of this conversation has changed over the years. It has gone from, "we should go/you should go/you would love Vermont" to something more hesitant.
"I'm afraid that if you went to Vermont," she admitted, "that you would never come home."
I laugh, but she is probably correct. I think there is probably something very Vermont about me. I didn't see it, but as I hear it told to me again and again, I think I can believe it after all.
It feels a little bit like Passover when I think about it.
Next year in Vermont. Next year in Vermont. Next year in Vermont.
Have I been to Vermont? No, but someday when I'm strong enough to know I'll come back, I'm going to go.
And we can't wait to see you. And I want to know what town she visits. Your comment makes me think of a limerick I wrote for a friend's 50th birthday:
ReplyDeleteHe loves his absinthe and Sauternes.
For confit and foie gras he does yearn.
Should this palate of Dan's
Ever travel to France
It is doubtful he'll ever return.
IB (as always) wins the comments.
ReplyDeleteMaybe we'll all go to Vermont together, and we can make sure you go home!