My Dog is Chelsea

So. Where do we begin?

The last 10 days, in a nutshell:

• Thursday: Finished everything that I needed to do at work at the last possible second, just in time to come home, pack and catch the red-eye to Newark.

• After taking a nap on Friday morning, I borrowed my mother’s car and drove up to my old summer camp in Vermont for the alumnae reunion weekend, after stopping for lunch with my brother in Connecticut.

• Drank too much beer, saw old friends. Laughed ’til it hurt. There is something about being at that place, around those people, that brings out my favorite version of myself. Every time I go back, I leave with a far-fetched ‘plan’ of going into the teaching profession simply to enable me to return to camp every summer. I’ve never had a job that I enjoyed more than being a camp counselor. Think about it: I got paid to sail and windsurf, hang out with friends, teach children and act like a kid again. What’s not to love? (Note: No, I’m not going to act upon this plan. But it’s fun to dream.)

• But it was cold! My goodness. Who knew that it would get down to the 40s at night in AUGUST?! wtf? Of course, the weather didn’t stop me from sailing (and capsizing, natch), waterskiing, swimming or canoeing.

• On Monday, some friends and I piled into the car to head back to the real world. I always hate the drive home, but it’s better with company. I called my mother as we pulled away to let her know I was leaving. “Oh, hey,” she said, “could you stop at a farm stand and pick up two dozen ears of corn?” TWO DOZEN?! What the hell for? “Well,” she explained, “We’re having about 10-12 people over for dinner for your birthday, so that’s about two ears a person. Twenty-four ears will do.”

• Well, between the four of us and our luggage, sleeping bags and blankets (and two of us had travelled from the West Coast and one of us from France with over a week’s worth of clothing, so the suitcases were none too compact) plus two dozen ears of corn, there wasn’t a whole lot of wiggle room. And we picked up my brother in Connecticut, which meant that some bags had to relocate to laps.

• My bro and I met my Uncle Joe in the city for a lovely lunch on Tuesday (mah burfday). Kicking off a week of throwing my vegetarianism out the window, I gorged myself on a delish seafood safron risotto and avocado/wasabi/tuna tartare.

• My friend from France, Joanne, stayed with us for the week. So on Tuesday night, she, my mother, my bro, my uncle, my aunt, my cousins and my cocofraumosi gathered for a giant feast. Seriously. It was like Thanksgiving’s warm-weather counterpart.

• My mother made a fantastic filet mignon (like I said—out the window), which became a source of much banter after my friend couldn’t understand what we meant by “filay minyawn,” until she realized that we were simply massively mispronouncing French words. “Oh! Filet mignon. It is so cute how you say it!”

• To accompany the giant slab of dead cow, I made an arugula salad with avocado, mango and red onion; my mother made a spagetti squash casserole; and I threw together a caprese salad using the basil and gargantuan tomatoes my aunt brought from her and my mother’s community garden plot. My brother whipped together some garlic-cheddar cheese mashed potatoes at the last minute, after my mother fretted characteristically, “Oh my god! We don’t have enough to feed everyone!”

• Which obviously wasn’t true. Especially if you consider the 24 ears of corn, freshly arrived from the rolling hills of VT. The same 24 ears of corn that my mother reminded my brother to husk, oh, maybe 24 times that day:

“Have you husked the corn yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Please do it outside so it doesn’t make a mess.”
“It’s pouring outside.”
“Well, husk the corn when the rain let’s up.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t forget.”
“I won’t!”
“When I get back from the store, that corn better be husked!”

• My brother did eventually shuck the corn, much to my mother’s surprise. Of course, because she’d been pestering him since the night before, the entire task was said and done no later than 3 pm. “We better put these in the fridge,” my mother said, picking up the giant platter of naked corn cobs, “since we won’t be cooking them until later.”

• The meal was fantastic, and natch, there was plenty of food. As I sat there enjoying the summer’s flavors (August is the best month, and not just because I was born during it), I took note of the incredible color palate of the plate before me—a bright, bold rainbow of foods: deep green arugula, orange mango, pink meat—the only way I’ll eat it—stoplight-red tomatoes, dark green basil, sunny yellow cor—

• “Um… wait. Where’s the corn?” I ask. My mother drops her utensils. “Oh my god!” she exlaims. “I forgot about the corn! Holy shit!” From their hiding place in the fridge, the cobs managed to escape their fate.

• By that point in the meal, everyone was completely stuffed and barely had room to contemplate birthday cake, let alone an ear of sweet corn. But despite protests from the peanut gallery (AKA the guests), my mother jumped up and immediately put water on the stove. We finally convinced her to cook only four ears of it (exactly one-sixth of the total supply), as only three of us had expressed an ability to consume anything else.

• I was one of the three. And, frankly, it was the sweetest, freshest, juiciest corn I’d had in a long while.

• The meal finished with two cakes: a fresh peach cake that my mother baked out of peaches my aunt picked in an orchard, and a strawberry shortcake-esque thing that has always been a favorite of mine at the local bakery.

• Hungry yet? I sure am. I have many more stories to tell, but you know what? It’s time to make dinner.