Not the Morning Subway Commute

Overheard at breakfast this morning:
"You ready to go find those turkeys that got loose last night?"
 

sterling

i'm here.  and can't quite describe "here" in any detail that would do this place justice.  i'm in the country.  i'm closer to the canadian border than to nyc.  the nearest pay phone (pay phone!) and general store (goodbye bodegas) is exactly one mile away.  my ankles are itching like mad because i've been eaten by mosquitoes and city slicker that i am forgot bug spray.  there are also fishercats, but that's a whole other story.  the air stepping out of the car smelled so good and clean it almost knocked me over.  the college is situated around the "commons" and everything in town is painted white with green trim -- including the two churches, post office and library.  it's like a set for anne of green gables and yet the scene behind my dorm, houston house, reminds me of a view in tuscany.  it's magical. 

there are 9 of us in the program and we each have our own room and bathroom -- each suite has a busier and louder floral wallpaper than the next (you can imagine my joy in living in a laura ashley house).  the funny, standard college issued furniture does not blend in and the whole place smells kind of moldy but it does fit the summer camp theme!  classes begin tomorrow when we dive into lacto-fermentation.  i don't think any of us really know what to expect from the next 5 weeks  -- everything here is mellow and, get this, UNLOCKED!  even the library is unlocked 24 hours a day, which makes me think that this key they gave me for my room is probably not going to see much use.  i do hope to make good use of the lovely area behind the house.  i spent an hour reading and watching the clouds this afternoon under an old gnarly apple tree and taking deep breaths of the lovely air.  it was awesome.  and what i craved when i was in the city -- a place with space to think.  i want to dive into the next few weeks and not only learn new skills but put some of the knowledge i already have to work in a different environment.  and i'm excited to see what comes out of it all.  who i am again.

Animals

Have you forgotten what we were like then

when we were still first rate
and the day came fat with an apple in its mouth

it's no use worrying about Time
but we did have a few tricks up our sleeves
and turned some sharp corners

the whole pasture looked like our meal
we didn't need speedometers
we could manage cocktails out of ice and water

I wouldn't want to be faster
or greener than now if you were with me O you
were the best of all my days

By Frank O'Hara

Hello/Goodbye

I never wanted to live in New York.  The thought never even crossed my mind until I spent a beautiful fall week wandering the city streets (I don't think I made it above 14th street), marveling at the beautiful light that poured into my friend's Mulberry Street apartment, admiring the cute fall jackets everyone sported (no one wore jackets of any kind in San Diego).  Further seduced by friends who knew their way around and could tuck us into the perfect dark corner bar, procure the best slice of pizza I had ever had in my life or call me a car for a drive back to Manhattan (over the Williamsburg bridge, a ride I still find breathtaking).  I went home and made a promise to myself to return.  And return I did, only a few months later, as so many before and after me, dragging two huge suitcases and a seemingly endless amount of optimism and enthusiasm. 

To think there was a time when "midtown" was a foreign word!  And to think there are still parts of this city I have never explored.  I don't have the words, or perhaps I don't yet have the space to talk clearly about NY because any writing of it creates a container, and I haven't been able to configure one big enough to do it justice.  To give the wonderful people I have met here, some of whom I am lucky enough to call friends, their due.  I know that my departure feels strange for in many ways it is as if I am already gone.  Although NY has been my home base, for the past six months I have spent much of the time either out West or inhabiting a strange underworld of job hunting, working odd jobs and internships (kitchenships?) and in general not feeling very rooted to this city.  Lately, with nowhere in particular to be and no one pressing to see, I've had the luxury of time to wander the city.  Walking down the avenues at the end of the day when everyone else seems to be making their way home from work lugging grocery bags or on their way to the gym or out to dinner, I wonder how they do it.  How have they managed to make this city their home?  I can remember a time when it was my home, when I felt part of the rhythm, when I bought groceries and had dry cleaning and knew my place.  But I no longer know my place.  And to be adrift in this sea is no fun.  

I don't doubt that I will return, I just don't know when or in what capacity.  I know that the city will change, probably in the time it takes for me to reach Vermont.  And likewise NY has changed me.  In the meantime, I left a token in Central Park.  Like a coin tossed into Trevi Fountain or flowers into the waters off the coast of Maine, a promise to return.

It is easy to see the beginnings of things, and harder to see the ends. I can remember now, with a clarity that makes the nerves in the back of my neck constrict, when New York began for me, but I cannot lay my finger upon the moment it ended, can never cut through the ambiguities and second starts and broken resolves to the exact place on the page where the heroine is no longer as optimistic as she once was. ~Joan Didion, Goodbye To All That