ardent bullshit comes down every faultline gushing heavily into jest kindly luscious melons nodding openly post quakes resting still to undermind various wonderous xylophones yawning zealously

Tuesday, July 21, 2015

Pull, kick, breathe.

There is an outdoor, public pool about a block from my apartment. It is an old pool, with a pool house (or at least the large stone structure was at one point; for what it is used now, I have no clue) on the west end of the pools. During the days the pool is open to kids and adults and whoever just wants to cool off. At 7 o'clock on the weeknights the parks department limits pool-goers to adult lap swimming. The lanes run east/west. Tonight I swam freestyle lengths going eastward and breaststroke lengths going westward for about 40 minutes and watched as the sun set behind the building.

Precious Moments.

Having not yet joined a gym here, exercise has mainly consisted of outdoor running, dance classes, and now swimming. I could go on like this forever but weather will not allow it and I do like access to a steam room and sauna in the winter. It'd been a few years since consistently swimming (about 6 to be precise) for exercise and I am happy to say that it's just like riding a bike. But in a pool. With measured breathing.


Sunday, July 19, 2015

Sunday Mornings on the Lower East Side

After deciding that I would go to school on Manhattan I investigated NYC neighborhoods to help determine where I wanted to live. Whether or not I could afford to live there was not really a consideration yet, and certainly affected my overall decision. But as a "feeling" sort of person, a neighborhood's qualitative characteristics hold decent weight for me. Also, anywhere on Manhattan is just plain expensive and I'd already experienced the money freak out. I visited a few different areas over the course of one weekend and found them all okay, with positive aspects but nothing that blew my mind. 

The first Sunday in April I rode the J train from Brooklyn, over the Williamsburg Bridge, to the Essex stop and walked Norfolk up to Houston, with the intent of getting bagels, lox, and all else that goes with that for Easter brunch with my family. Bringing bagels to the cousins' has become a delightful tradition. 

Sunday mornings on LES are quiet, lazy, and wholesome. People sit on their front steps with coffee and say hello. It feels like the entire neighborhood is stretching and yawning itself awake, stealing some quiet time. It feels peaceful. It feels like home. 

This morning Payton and I met in the middle of and ran back and forth over the Williamsburg Bridge a few times, gabbing and laughing, staring at the Midtown skyline in awe of where we live. I still feel challenged by the newness of my (lack of?) routine here but little by little the things I enjoy are being repeated. And experiences I'd prefer not prioritize are just being set aside. 


Wednesday, July 15, 2015

Honest Conversation About Humanity

It's been two weeks since I left Brookline. And about two weeks of moving, physically and emotionally. Not from anything but rather toward people and places; this is still foreign for me. To list the experiences I have had over the course of 14 days could not begin to allow the weight and credit these opportunities deserve. Nor could it describe just how healthily drained I feel as a result.

Yesterday morning I got back from Georgia, early, and pushed myself to work through the day. So I, with purpose, slept past my alarm this morning. And now it is raining. Which really just makes for a good excuse to lay low and refill and eat some food I make at home.

Wednesday, July 01, 2015

Manhattan

Today is my second day living on Manhattan. Around 7:30 tonight, while in the West Village, I ran into a woman I met on a rain forest tour in Puerto Rico. Pete and I were hanging out and I saw someone who looks like her so I said "hey Carrie!" and she turned around and it was her. So we had dinner and gibber-gabbered away for a few hours, enjoying each others' company. 

This island is magical. 

Thursday, June 25, 2015

Brown Boxes

Now I really really really have almost all of the packing done. Just sweeping up little things here and there. Putting smaller boxes into a big box and writing B (for bathroom) on the side sorts of final activities. The move still doesn't quite feel completely real. Like I KNOW that I will be living on Manhattan in a week but for today I am still in Brookline with all of my usual things. 

But soon I will have all new sounds in my apartment. And some new smells in the hallway. New fancy restaurants where I go for oysters. All of that feels like a fun new adventure. 

Tonight John and I went on a motorcycle ride after our fancy dinner. It was the last ride on his beautiful, old bike I will have for a while. There won't be my John with his sailboat and old motorcycle and smile and laugh and kind eyes on Manhattan. Sure, I get to visit him in my mind and I take a piece of him wherever I go in unlimited quantities. But I am a supremely selfish person and want to see my people whenever I want. We'll have to say "hey are you busy this weekend? okay how about we plan to have a lunch on that day blah blah blah" rather than a quick "LET'S GO SAILING NOW" text message.

Needless to say, these last few years in Boston I have been spoiled by the amount of love I feel and experience on a daily basis. But it is time to move on and go to graduate school again and become a research clinician and do all of that. Fortunately, Boston isn't completely done with me, as I am not done with it. Between the friends and work that are still here, (did I mention that I am keeping my job and working from NYC?) guess I'll be back pretty regularly. It won't be the same. But nothing that is sustainable stays static. 

Sunday, June 14, 2015

La Boca

This weekend I was at a wedding, or rather post-nuptial reception, out on a boat in Boston Harbor. The couple got married about 6 months ago but just now got around to a party. It was lovely. Lovely is the new nice, don't you think? Just like hectic is the new busy. 

We're all just saying the same things.

Anyway, so a group of us got on this boat to celebrate the young couple and cruised around. Many many people revived that one scene from Titanic. Revived it until it was dead again, which was long before they stopped reviving it. We had a good time. 

One thing was bothering me, though. It became apparent that I wasn't swearing and when I did I realized it. This whole week, actually, my mouth (for the most part) remained G-to-PG, rarely crossing into R-rated territory. And it was kind of nice. 

Usually I am laying out expletives left and right, acting cool and tough. Not that I have anything against a "potty mouth" or will stop using appropriate words for emphasis but overuse really undermines the potency that a well-placed "fuck" can bring. 

So that is going to be the next sort of fine tuning. It probably will last until I miss the C Line by about 17 seconds tomorrow morning when I am already late to a meeting and I will let 'er rip. 

Oh well. It's all just practice anyway.

Tuesday, June 02, 2015

Where is Ryan Palmer?

This weekend I threw out all of my yearbooks from middle and high school. I'm moving to New York in less than 4 weeks and am currently apartment purging.

Anybody want some stuff?

So up in my bathroom linen closet were all these very heavy books with photos of yesteryear and goofy stuff written in them like "you're a great friend".  

Good to know!

And I paged through them because it is fun to do and look at what everyone was all about during our formative years. I was on a lot of different teams over the years. Even on cheerleading with Jaimie and Katie. Then I got to thinking about how we used to practice cheers in Katie's basement before her parents turned it into a sweet home theater with a popcorn machine and everything. We had a really good time together.

Trip down Memory Lane!

Some of the people I knew I still know. Like I saw Jaimie a couple weeks ago and talked to Katie a couple days ago. We're all living our weird little lives now masquerading as grown ups but we're really not fooling anyone. We're the same, just with checkbooks. And that is really comforting to know that the grown ups never really were grown ups, they were just bigger and had money.

The jig is up!

As I turned the pages and dove deeper into the nostalgia zone I came across people who were so cool then and I really liked, even if it was just in class. Like this kid, Ryan Palmer. We called him Cookie Boy. Who "we" are, I'm not exactly sure but I remember it wasn't just me in English class bothering a boy I liked because I was too chicken shit to do anything like that without an accomplice. And I certainly didn't have the confidence then to just come out at tell some cutie pie that I would like to spend some time eating and hanging out and that if he is lucky he can hold my hand. Some people call that modesty or patience but really it was just crippling teenage anxiety. He really was cute, I had proof of that until this morning when the garbage service took away all of my yearbooks. And now I don't have any proof because I cannot seem to find him on the internet. Oh well. 

Ryan Palmer (Hinsdale Central Class of '97 but you didn't graduate with us because you left Senior Year)...if you are out there how is it going?