Filed under: Life in general
I sit in a wonderful coffee shop on 28 Jane Street. It feels like I’m sitting in a friend’s loft apartment replete with exposed ceilings and brick walls. My friend likes to bake and fancies herself a coffee barista. Instead of a TV, a snack bar, instead of a bed, a great big red velveteen sofa. This is where I sit. In front of me rests a pumpkin latte with two shots of espresso and a grlled cheddar on multigrain on a chunky ceramic plate with pink and seagreen borders, something that might have made an appearance on Leave it to Beaver if it were in color.
Filed under: Life in general
It’s not much of a blog that’s updated once a year. Happily, I believe I am now its only reader and therefore, have only myself to disappoint. On the other hand, I am in an excellent position to know my daily goings-on making me (the reader) less reliant on such sparse input of data.
However, it is true, as it is for all people who blog, I do wish to extend my list of readers to > 1, so again, for the 5th time, make a commitment to writing more regularly. (At some point, I anticipate that the shame will force me to commit (My only concern is that I have a very high tolerance for shame)). Not that this will necessarily ensure more readers, but at least I’ll feel better thant I have not left even my imaginary ones down.
As I posted 5 months ago, I am in New York City and have been now for nearly 9 months. I will admit, the transition was not as ground-breaking as I first assumed it would be. I assume this is because I brought me along. I am me– in Boston, or in New York. And probably in Siberia too, except there I might be cold.
So I started therapy. To help me see what it was that I’d brought along, besides my sheepskin rug and All-Clad pans. I’d always prided myself on being unusually free of childhood woes and tribulations, convinced that I am who I am by virtue of my genetics with perhaps a small contribution from my environment. I am beginning to learn that all of us as children received– besides the gumball machines, Cabbage Patch Kids and Laura Ashley dresses (I was a kid in the 70s & 80s!)– a-little-something-extra-special from our home that might make us feel a little, shall we say, less than special. I have my thing. You have yours.
The problem is: once you’ve opened this grab-bag, you have only the option of getting over it. As quickly as possible.
