Friends

I keep my distance, as usual, camera as buffer and coping mechanism. The cast and crew of my friend’s film are called into the poolhouse in groups to watch behind-the-scenes clips on his laptop. The kids steer chunky white rafts around the water. I am called to bear witness to a ritual that is strange to me, but apparently is a very traditional part of this sort of celebration: the throwing of the directors into the pool. I ask no questions, just lift my lens and get the shots, pleased that I chose photography over movie-making.

A sign hangs at the beginning of the long driveway, but I only catch the first word, Woods, white painted letters on dark pine. We pass fenced pastures dotted with small barns and stands of tall trees, only tufts of orange and brown leaves left at their very tops, their bodies spare streaks below. The horses lift their heads as we pass. We park under an old maple and haul folding chairs, blankets, and backpacks holding flashlights and sweatshirts past the farm house and into the back yard where the gathering has started. ...

Our neighbors have an awesome deck, a welcoming firepit, and a killer fashion sense.

The sound of Noah learning how to hammer nails on our front steps rang through the neighborhood, acting as a beacon to all knights neighbors within hearing range.

I half-finished a purse. Mostly we talked, and ate, and drank, and pet the cat, while the wonderful smell of Jake’s Polish soul food cooking in the kitchen drove us to further distraction.

A cold Sunday afternoon with friends. We caught some serious air on the jumps, Jack. We sledded until dark, and then fifty percent of our family fell asleep in the car on the way home.

I want to need to remember: :: a pod of dolphins hunting for their breakfast in the waters across the cove ...

Funniest conversation overheard: Abbie: “Wow, you can see the whole world from up here!” Jocelyn: “Can you see Italy???”

It was one of those parties where you talk to yourself in the bathroom mirror: you talk about how much fun you’re having and then you look yourself in the eye and say that maybe you should slow down on the wine. You speak French much of the night, and are complemented on your accent by your expat hosts. You catch your husband’s eye from across the table and with one raised eyebrow you broadcast plans for later. That kind of party. You adjust your scarf, check your teeth, and then head back into the fray.