We are not idealized wild things.We are imperfect mortal beings, aware of that mortality even as we push it away,failed by our very complication,so wired that when we mourn our losses we also mourn, for better or for worse, ourselves.As we were. As we are no longer. As we will one day not be at … Continue reading On Writing, Writers and the Written
NYC
On Missing
“I look out the window, and I see the lights and the skyline and the people on the street rushing around looking for action, love, and the world’s greatest chocolate chip cookie, and my heart does a little dance.” Nora Ephron, Heartburn There was a time when I was obsessed with everything Nora Ephron. I … Continue reading On Missing
Finding Movement
I write to find out what I’m thinking. What I’m looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear. Joan Didion “You have your words,” G said last summer. She’s right. Most of my writing is silently, unabashedly, purely for me; pen and paper are my best friends. … Continue reading Finding Movement
Brooklyn Bridge
A few days into the new normal of our life in NYC, G had settled into her routine, and I had painted the apartment walls back to white (from cerulean blue in the kitchen and black in the bathroom), installed curtains, and learned how to do laundry and where to find our groceries. How and … Continue reading Brooklyn Bridge
Where I End & She Begins 