An October Day at Storm King

An October Day at Storm King

A few Saturdays ago, Kenjo and I went to Storm King for the day. It had been a plan in the making for some time. Something in the stars had kept us from getting there in the weeks prior, but finally; that day – October 28th – we were going. The car was booked.

 

Of course, I was ready to go about an hour and a half before Kenjo actually got his butt to my door, and then we felt too rushed to go to Whole Foods and buy picnic food (we can just get food there at the cafe, I told myself). But we had a plan to stop at a diner on the way, and so we did. It wasn’t, sadly, particularly charming; the food was okay. But, anyway, the drive was nice, right along the Hudson, and we listened to music and watched the fall leaves rush by.

Charlottesville, August 12th, 2017

What the events in Charlottesville helped me to see, unfortunately,  about my former beloved home

 

I wrote this post about two weeks ago, and have hesitated to share it. It is ALWAYS intensely difficult to press "publish" when sharing one's voice on such a sensitive topic. But I have decided that it is important to do so; we all need to speak up in these difficult and confusing times in order to come together and create positive change. 

 

I attended a university that was built by slaves, and only one faculty member in my four years there - my favorite English professor, Mark Edmundson - took the time to mention it. 

Home, Sweet Country Home

Home, Sweet Country Home

An Ode to Undying Routines, Falling-down Barns, and the Sweet Smell of Hay in the Air as I Drive Home from a Day that Has Left Me Creative

I have always been a city girl. But, boy, am I glad that my parents live out in the middle of nowhere. Whenever my life feels a little bit too messy to handle (which, honestly, New York tends to do to my brain a lot), their house in the boondocks of Upstate New York provides the perfect escape. Something about waking up with no one across the street and only my dogs to answer to allows me to settle more clearly into my routine: a ten-minute drive, around 8am, along the lake to my favorite coffee shop, where I’ll spend the next four hours, writing idly. Where, at some point, I’ll happily gulp down some iced coffee and a perfect sesame bagel with cream cheese for sustenance, and I’ll feel completely at peace - as the coffee shop regulars come in and out and as the coffee shop owner roasts coffee beans about five feet away – knowing that I’m getting things done on my own deadline.