Sometime, either Friday or Saturday (details are rough and sketchy), my sister received a marriage proposal from a guy she’s known for just over two weeks.  She emailed our mom for advice, since 36 years ago, she was in a similar situation.

My friend Shay has been staying with me for the last week or so, as the old roommate moved out on May 18th, and the new one won’t move in until the third weekend in June.  Several of us were brought together by former friend Rachel, a young woman none of us stays in touch with, but are all grateful we knew because she was the reason we all met.  Shay and I spent two years working together out at Drexel Med, and it’s been a delicious pleasure to see her daily again.

I’m feeling quiet and less expansive than usual.  For the first time in my life, I’m not excited by the prospect of meeting new people.  I don’t know if it’s the sudden heat or the many shifts in life lately, but holing up in my apartment in front of bad tv is deeply appealing.

Lately, the insides of tomatoes have been a deep, almost bloody red.  This, to me, is one of the irrefutable signs of summer.  I have taken to tossing halved grape tomatoes, chunked cucumber and sliced red onion with olive oil, lemon juice, salt, pepper and handfuls of fresh, torn basil and calling it dinner (if I feel the need for protein, I get a container of marble sized fresh mozzerella and add it to the mix).  If I’m feeling extra ambitious, I’ll cook up a couple of ears of corn and slice the kernels off the cob and add it to the bowl.  Shay calls it summer salad.  I call it good stuff.