Events have begun to converge again, so that I am torn apart by all the possibilities. In my 20 year experience of life on this planet, little as though it may be, it always seems to me that life unfolds like an accordion, sending out forever-oscillating ripples. Periods of hard work and no play and bleak prospects followed by everything happening all at once, all the doors flung open and so much luck and joy it feels unreal. Not that I won the Powerball or anything, but I feel things shifting and gears groaning forward, reacting slowly to the backbreaking work it took to push them into motion again. Maybe it’s the start of spring and the beginning of a very interesting season for me, full of so many decisions whose ripples I cannot foresee. When I’m 70 I shall maybe write a book about it all because maybe everyone will think I lived through a crazy time and will want to know what went on in the minds of the strange people that were alive back then. And who knows, maybe I will have.
This past Sunday I had to get out of the house so I took Jake to walk around lower Manhattan and stumbled upon Little Italy, which was only a block away from my office. It was great to see a familiar part of town in a different light and the Instagram has been blowing up ever since.
The casinos in Atlantic City look like a mini Manhattan from this beach on the eastern side of the island.
The docks on the western side of the island form a beautiful backdrop to the sunset
Sitting at home with a pounding headache and a fever has been a mixed blessing, as I get to sleep all I want and conjure up new content.
Last weekend Jake and I went to visit his grandmother who lives in Brigantine, New Jersey, across the bridge from Atlantic City (about two hours by bus from New York) and that mini Manhattan-esque skyline of casinos. Apparently everyone flocks there from the city in the summer and it is a gorgeous place to spend a weekend, but in the winter it was peaceful and the sunsets no less stunning. So look forward to a summer update of this place when we return to the city, a proper travel guide of one of those places where you don’t have to see it all because aside from good food that you can order out and amazing beaches 5 minutes in every direction, there’s not much to do. And after weeks in the city, that’s wonderful for busybodies like me.
It’s almost Friday!
(P.S I really sympathized with these pigeons, a love affair carried over from my time in Paris and Siena, they were just trying to stay warm, like me)
Winter Storm Jonas swept through yesterday, inspiring hashtags and snowy artsy pictures as New Yorkers rediscover, with some horror and cleaning-out of the supermarkets, what a real winter is like. Even getting around Manhattan was difficult, but I had spent all of yesterday locked up inside so I was determined to squeeze out whatever minimal Vitamin D I could find.
We started at the High Line, train station turned urban park, running down part of the west side of the island. We ended up in Chelsea and then just wandered over to the iconic Flatiron, with a pit stop at Birch. New York’s charm is heightened by the snow, even if half the time you’re dodging icicles and up to your knees in slush. And it was great to explore other parts of the island besides SoHo.
I feel a winter survival guide coming on sometime later, as a bit of fun experimentation.
“Cities have sexes: London is a man, Paris a woman, and New York a well-adjusted transsexual.” ~ Angela Carter
Have not been to London to test that part of the affirmation, but the rest holds up! Spent yesterday at the Met reliving my Egyptologist childhood at the numerous burial sites they have set up inside (complete with 19th century graffiti left by rich kids on European trips…oh how little things have changed) and now am cleaning the apartment because I’m still on a good streak after my New Year’s resolution.
Have a wonderful (rest of your) weekend!