Susan's back to work now, she has what appears to be a nice job working for a big deal place that requires her to get up before 6am, which is her least favorite hour. Prior to rejoining the working world she used her seven months of unemployment to perfect the poached egg, entertain a steady line up of houseguests, drive back & forth to visit the old folks in Florida, and watch Cousin Greg get married in Brooklyn. She also discovered that she lost all her professional skills.
Susan's Little Sister packed up her family & moved to a nearby neighborhood, which is pretty exciting because now Susan doesn't always have to go everywhere all by herself. A bunch of crappy things happened too, like Susan's little apartment got flooded, her son had four toes amputated, she had to turn over $1700 to replace a doctor's bumper and her dad died.
Susan's lovely friend *Kate, who has a knack for communicating the exact right thing, sent this poem to Susan:
Shifting the Sun by Diana Der-Hovanessian
When your father dies, say the Irish
you lose your umbrella against bad weather.
May his sun be your light, say the Armenians.
When your father dies, say the Welsh
you sink a foot deeper into the earth.
May you inherit his light, say the Armenians
When your father dies, say the Canadians
you run out of excuses.
May you inherit his sun, say the Armenians.
When your father dies, say the Indians
he comes back as the thunder.
May you inherit his light, say the Armenians.
When your father dies, say the Russians,
he takes your childhood with him.
May you inherit his light say the Armenians.
When your father dies, say the British,
you join his club you vowed you wouldn’t.
May you inherit his sun, say the Armenians.
When your father dies, say the Armenians,
your sun shifts forever
and you walk in his light.
