…having a Wi-Fi network at your parents house.
My mom texts in all caps and forwards chain emails from 1997 but she’s got a Wi-Fi network that puts Starbucks to shame.
So I’m browsing the web with my childhood kitten on my lap in the bedroom of my youth. I’m in a nostalgia vortex experiencing things I’ll remember fondly twenty years from now and ten years before.
This time of year upstate is beyond perfect. Summer is rushing headlong up the dirt road. It’s been raining for days and the lawn is that type of soft that makes grass feel like slippers and if you stand still long enough you can pick up a pair of sandals made out of slugs.
The foliage is adolescent, you can almost feel each leaf’s excitement toward the coming muggy nights and late night porch drinking sessions. They even look forward to that one hour too long discussion about some New Yorker article on street art that you’ll want to punch yourself for even participating in.
The leaves are heavy from the rain that has been falling and from the still quiet of the house you can hear every drop fall over the constant chirping of the peepers.
I love it here.