School has started, and I have a full week’s worth of classes under my belt. I’m frazzled, overwhelmed, not sleeping well, and fairly exhausted. . .but overall, I’m excited. My time-management skills, good boundaries, and healthy sense of balance will come back to me once I get into the swing of things, I assure myself.
As for today, it’s gorgeous in San Francisco, I’m sitting in a great cafe getting quality work done, and I am all kinds of wistful. I’m wistful for summers past (mostly of the YouthWorks! variety), for Pittsburgh cafes, and (this one is weird, because I have only ever spent one weekend there, but I think I’m really just wistful about the good time spent with a good friend) for Austin.
But mostly, I’m thinking about the Canfield Fair. (Um, and OMG, it also has a freaking Twitter? What is this world coming to?) I’ve only missed the Fair one other time in my life, which was during the semester I was in Prague. But I decided that it’d be too stressful to try to make a trip home for Labor Day this year, with school starting and all; I’m sure it was the right decision, but I’m still sad that I’m not there. Scoff if you’d like, but the Canfield Fair is something I identify with, something representative about where I’m from. It’s very difficult to properly describe it to people who have never been to it, and it’s very difficult to explain the importance of it to people who didn’t grow up going to it. (Okay, and to be honest, not even everyone who even grew up going to it feels the love for it that I do.) Still, it is important to me.
Alas, I will live vicariously through my parents’ tales of LeRoy’s sausage sandwiches, Riki’s Kwiki’s corn dogs, Springfield Ruritan’s french fries, Two Brothers BBQ’s pulled pork nachos, Antone’s cavatelli, lemonade shakeups, and fresh cherry cider. . .and hope I can make it home next year.