The Jobless Goddess

   It’s that time of year again. I’m sweaty and I’m wearing my eight-year-old flip flops. Pretty soon I’ll have to yank my swimsuit on and look at the damage in the bathroom mirror, from the neck up like I always do. Some people apparently like summer vacation.    I was people-watching from my vantage point outside the Edgartown town hall the other day, waiting for my husband to pick me up and checking out the marks the aforementioned flip flops had left on my swollen feet that work day when I fixated on a family. They were enjoying a nice walk on Main Street, or at first glance they were. Then it began. The family vacation “episode.” The mother was wearing one of those popular maxi dresses. The dad had on white shorts, as did the two little boys who were maybe 3 and 7. The little girl had on a pastel dress and little pink sandals. She was maybe 5 or 6.    Everything was going well, and then the mother insisted that they all sit on a bench while she took their picture.Well, o

    I'm wearing yoga pants right now. Black with a pink dragon decorating the bottom of the right leg, and purchased during one of many exercise phases. I have no intentions of doing yoga tonight. Or any other night for that matter. The pants are comfy though.     I also have a tub of coconut oil spread in the refrigerator. I bought it to spread on my morning toast. It tastes like coconut-flavored Crisco so I don't use it. I predict that it goes the way of the wasabi-flavored dried seaweed I picked up three months ago.     There is a little plastic bag in a drawer in the bathroom filled with little gifts of makeup my daughter has given me. The mascara has dried to a fine powder.     Under the kitchen sink is a spray bottle of cleanser made from organic parsley. Unfortunately it's for use on granite and stone countertops. My countertop is made of some kind of hard plastic, and the spray causes the paper towels I use on it to pill up and leave scraps all over the countertop.

    Father's Day is this weekend. I've written about my mom before but not about my dad so much.     It hurts me now just to type the words Father's Day I miss him so much.     My dad was tough. Strong. Like punch someone in the mouth and they bleed strong.     I can barely type this I love him so much.     He was handsome. He had a really nice face. That 1950s look of a dip in the hairdo.     There are times in life when you will meet someone who just gets you.     It can happen when you're a check out person at a grocery store. Or if you're salad prep on the line at a restaurant. Or if you're a college student. Or if you qualify for a senior discount. Someone will look at you right in the eye and they will understand you.     This was me and my dad. And I say "was" reluctantly. I wish I had nice illustrations about just how beautiful we were, my dad and me.     I wish I could describe him to you like he was superman. He seems so small when I