Back in the Big Apple

So I’m back in New York after almost two short months in Northfield. It’s been a great summer (funny how somehow it feels like the summer is over, since the next couple of weeks are very preoccupied with going abroad).

Things I have gotten out of being in Northfield:
- two holes in my dogi (the thick white aikido pajamas)
- abs that come out of hiding if you catch them at the right moment (hence the oft-quoted-in-Northfield, “No, my abs are not a closet!”)
- new friends, most notably my house-mate (bonding over Bollywood and "Project Runway") and my co-birthday partier and June hotel (bonding over "Sex and the City"). How well trashy TV brings us together.
- mad cooking skills, especially if they involve vegetables, rice, and coconut milk
- a new appreciation for how quickly toddlers learn new things
- excitement about a new adventure

Things I have not gotten out of being in Northfield:
- male company. OK, this isn't strictly true, and NO, it's not what you're thinking! But I was having this conversation about a week ago with Rachel about how, even though all this girl time has been awesome, we kind of missed watching boys play video games (and the accompanying "distracting boys from playing video games"). And now we can pretend I never made that comment in a public forum.
- money. Working 28 hours a week is great, especially when rent and food are cheap. Unfortunately, paying for a new car radio (see “Minnesota hoodlums” post) is not. Sigh.

Anyway, my dad got his prostate surgery today, and I’m happy to report that all went smoothly. I saw him in the recovery room, and he was pale and dopey but doing fine. I’m very proud of both my parents, actually. I think my mom was more anxious than she let on, and given the circumstances both of them have been super-sane. And since it turned out well, I feel entirely justified about not being too freaked about the whole thing. And props to Memorial Sloane Kettering for being the poshest hospital ever. It’s all new and shiny, and while that may be all a big marketing ploy, it worked – I felt like he was in good hands. The worst part of the whole experience, I thought, was seeing some of the kids in the elevators. You don’t want to see an eight-year-old hooked up to an IV. It’s not right.

And, so as not to end this post on a sour note, one awesome thing about being home is that I’m divesting of all this old stuff I don’t use any more – clothes, books, shoes, posters, etc. So the mess on my floor from being too lazy to do a good job at unpacking is totally justified by the four bags of stuff that I’m giving away... right?