Sam was standing in front of the dairy case at the supermarket in Manchester, staring at the yogurt options. He is tall, 6'2" I think, and too thin. He is always pulling up his shorts or his pants because he can't make his belt tight enough to make up for the weight he lost this past year when Lyme Disease made him lose his appetite.
He stood and looked for a while. He had come to understand that he needed to eat better, that he needed to eat more protein, and to eat more, in general. So we were shopping for smoothie ingredients: fruit, juice, yogurt, only we couldn't find any whole-fat yogurt. There was 2% fat and 0% fat but no whole-fat in sight.
"Am I the only person in America who is trying to gain weight?" he asked, of no one in particular.
If I had an Instagram, I would have Instagrammed Sam in that moment, so tall and slender, handsome, standing motionless with his hands in the pockets of his shorts, staring at the dairy case at the Shaw's Supermarket in Manchester, Vermont on a Saturday morning, making me laugh.
We were walking through the cemetery yesterday morning, Coco and Daisy and I. It was rainy, overcast, chilly. Nate had just gotten in Mark's car to go to the driving range with Mark and Jack, and Coco was bummed that her brother was gone. She was walking slowly, lagging behind.
I kept looking back to see where she was, to see if she was planning to try to catch up with us, but she was playing a little game, hiding behind the gravestones and peeking out. I walked Daisy up to where the path turns to grass, then veered right to visit Mabel, who was buried last week.
I turned around and saw her, standing in front of a large stone. Her body was kind of soft, in that "I'm looking at something with curiosity" way. Her hand was on her hip and her head was tilted a bit. She was wearing layers of clothes: a t-shirt with the Swiss flag emblem that her aunt brought back from Switzerland, a long striped cardigan that used to belong to Julianne, a white rain coat that was once mine. She had a red Swiss baseball cap on her head and orange boots on her feet and she was still wearing her purple pajama bottoms. Somehow all of this looked great on her.
I stood and watched her as she stood and looked at the grave marker.
"I'm trying to see if it's anyone's birthday today!" she yelled to me.
If I had an Instagram, I would have Instagrammed Coco in that moment, layered with all those funny clothes, staring at an old gravestone in the cemetery in Pawlet, Vermont on a rainy Monday morning, making me laugh.