When I was growing up, I had no idea that people traveled in August. Where I’m from, vacations happen in June and people spend their time on a beach without sunscreen. It wasn’t until last year when I went to Paris did I become aware that entire cities basically shut down so people can escape the heat for a few weeks and unwind. What a concept. This past long and lonely August, the Bond House may as well have been France.
With Bennett and Theresa leaving us for the respective homes, there came a rash of departures. Michael was off to tend business in London; Claudia spent her time in a slew of conferences; Josefina was in Venezuela to finalize her move; other housemates were off for a few days at a time. It was basically the “Bailey, Brennan, and Elzerie Try to Eat All the Food Before It Goes Bad” show (we did not always succeed. Here’s looking at you, suspect bag of potatoes).
I do not do well with solitude. If anyone needed to break me for information, all you’d need was a windowless room and 4 hours before I sang like a canary. After everyone left, I found myself gravitating to the kitchen to work on a paper as though somehow hoping that everyone would be there. When they weren’t, I cooked as though they were. One particularly lonesome Saturday had me in a frenzy of homemade marinara, cookies, hummus, chicken, roasted eggplant, some sort of soup, smoked salmon. There was so much food, we had to invite Mitch, Lucy, and Harriet over to help us eat it. And then there were leftovers.
So many leftovers.
Luckily, the people I live with have a lot of friends that they like to have over for dinner. We’ve had doctors, medical students, research fellows, [insert medical profession here], [and another one here], and even a bulldog puppy over these last few weeks. It’s always so wonderful to open our doors to strangers and break bread with new friends. Also, how could someone not like Boozy Brunch?
The Bond House is undoubtedly at its best when everyone is home, when every room is full, when we eat together three or four times a week. I do not begrudge my housemates their adventures, but I do miss them when they are gone. There’s not really much else to say about August other than the fact that the time I spent with my stateside housemates this past month was precious; that a dinner party isn’t a dinner party unless there are more than 10 people at the table; that every bump from the basement is infinitely creepier when you’re the closest one to the door. We won’t linger.
I am happy that everyone is home. Here’s to an already livelier September.