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the everyman memoirs

The official blog of author Tali Nay.
OCT
26

Coney Island

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4 subway swipes (6 train and D train, 2 ways): $10

Nathan's Cheesy Fries: $5.71

Luna Park Wristband: $20

1 ticket for the Cyclone: $9

Ice cream cone: $4.35

First time on the Boardwalk: Priceless

 

OCT
23

Guest Writer: The Cat

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This city is going to make me fat. I know I'm only 6 pounds, but I’m still a girl. At any rate, it's gone. It's all gone. The stairs are gone. Even all the rooms are gone. But I'm a glass half full kind of cat, plus I sleep upwards of 18 hours a day, so I can do without the rooms. And the stairs. And the bay windows. And the couch. And the cable box that was always warm. I digress.

Here is what I know.

I am in a place called New York. T has wanted to come here for a long time. She romanticized the idea if you ask me, a term I only recently became familiar with, because she loves a movie called Breakfast at Tiffany's. I would love something other than kibble for breakfast, so I watch this movie eagerly. There is never any breakfast, but there is a cat, so I like it. Even though if you've read the book, Holly isn't actually able to find the cat at the end, which is a pretty crucial detail. I am a very literary cat. 

New York is noisy, like the woman downstairs who hits the broom on the ceiling whenever I run around. And the noises outside the door. People are always hurrying. And stomping. And slamming. They also watch TV, take baths, open letters, cough, get paged from someone out on the street, and walk from one side of the room to the other. And I can hear it all. So Broom Lady is just going to have to deal with me and my 6 pounds.

There is a cat across the hall. A tom cat. He's bigger than me and his owners let him walk in the hallways. Sometimes when our door is open he will come in. I don't like him being so forward, and I hiss, even though he intrigues me and I’ve never had a boyfriend (unless you count the father of that litter of kittens I bore when I was living in the streets of Cleveland…but that was hardly a relationship). The neighbor cat does have the name of a really good Counting Crows song, so maybe there is hope for him yet. I am a very musical cat.

Speaking of music, T left her guitar behind, and I miss it. It reminded me of Holly, who also sings and plays. The broom lady would have a hissy fit (an expression I believe only cats can use) but I want the guitar back. T plays the Counting Crows. If I could write a song for their band, well, it would have to be mopey, and it would go like this:

 

It's darker here when no one is home.

The food is exactly the same.

We are higher off the ground.

The box on the wall hisses but is very warm.

We sleep in the same space now.

Some of my toys are missing.

 

Oh, and no one knows this, but you can actually climb up underneath the loveseat and hide inside it. No one can get you out. 

And I haven't had a single hairball incident since the move. I am a very classy cat.

 

OCT
15

How to do Laundry in New York City

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Step 1: Locate closest laundromat.

Step 2: Schlep clothes (and detergent) down all flights of stairs in your elevatorless building, down the block, and across the street to said laundromat.

Step 3: Once your heart has stopped palpitating from such exertion (true story), locate the Access Card machine and get out your credit card.

Step 4: When you realize the machine is cash only, leave your clothes where they are (them things be *heavy*) and return to your apartment, go up all flights of stairs in your elevatorless building, retrieve cash from your wallet (or the ziploc baggie in your purse), go down the stairs again, and head back to the laundromat.

Step 5: Insert the first of two $5 bills into the machine.

Step 5: When you realize that the $10 required to get an Access Card must, in fact, be a $10 bill itself, leave your clothes behind and repeat step 4, only move on to step 6 after leaving your apartment building.

Step 6: Go to the small market around the corner from the laundromat and buy a pack of gum to break the $20 you just took from your wallet/baggie.

Step 7: Go back to the laundromat and get an Access Card with your newly-in-hand $10 bill.

Step 8: Determine which machines are the washers. This will take approximately 30 minutes.

Step 9: Put clothes in washer, detergent in compartments on top, start the cycle, and get the stop watch going on your phone so you know when to come back.

Step 10: Return to your elevatorless apartment building and go up all those stairs.

Step 11: Go down the stairs, leave the building, and go back to the laundromat.

Step 12: Put your wet clothes into one of those metal cart things sitting in one corner of the room and wheel them over to what you think is probably a dryer only because it isn't a washer and your deduction skills are usually pretty on point.

Step 13: Put clothes in dryer, insert Access Card, select cycle, and hit start.

Step 14: Study the numbers flashing at you in order to figure out how long the drying will take so you can once again start the stopwatch on your phone.

Step 15: Conclude that H1:06 must mean an hour and six minutes, and set the stopwatch accordingly.

Step 16: Repeat steps 10 and 11.

Step 17: Open the dryer to fetch your clothes, but close it again when it registers that your clothes are still soaking wet.

Step 18: Insert Access Card and push buttons until H1:06 is once again on the screen.

Step 19: Realize that H1:06 only dries your clothes for 6 minutes, and continue entering Access Card until the 6 has increased to something more thermically realistic.

Step 20: Knowing you will now only make your evening reservation if you leave your clothes drying and then unattended for a couple of hours, leave your clothes drying and unattended for a couple of hours.

Step 21: Tell your friend over dessert at Serendipity about Step 20, and when she says things like, "You can't do that," and "Your clothes won't be there when you get back," begin to internally panic.

Step 22: Make bets with yourself on the walk back to the laundromat about whether your clothes will be there. Scold yourself repeatedly for being so naive, I suggest something like, "Stupid, stupid, stupid!!", and begin to think about where you can go that night to buy new sheets, towels, and underwear.

Step 23: Arrive at laundromat and see your clothes sitting in the dryer.

Step 24: Load them back into the hamper you hid behind the leftmost row of washers.

Step 25: Repeat Step 10, this time with all the clothes.

 

So, really, pretty easy then.

 

OCT
13

Storytelling: NYC Edition

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They are the most human part of us. Stories. They are why I write, they are what I like to write, they are the only part of an otherwise boring lecture or presentation or sunday school lesson that will make an impact on me in any way. I'm sure if you think about the lectures, presentations, and sunday school lessons that have made up your own life, you'll agree that stories trump all.

There is a storytelling organization here in NYC that I am just becoming acquainted with. I attended one of their events a few days ago (at a beautifully charming venue, the stairwell of which is pictured here), one featuring stories from World War II. Most of the storytellers were in their late 90s and lived through it, the war, and between stories of escaping Belgium and traveling on foot through France (it took a year), setting off explosives and being shot in action, flying planes to help train new soldiers, racial discrimination even after arriving home from serving our nation, these men and women were positively captivating. Not because they were expert storytellers, but because life often needs little fanfare or finesse in order to shine through.

Harry Truman's grandson told the final story of the evening. Not a veteran himself, but he's often asked to speak on his family's behalf whenever the anniversary of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombings approaches. He told of a tender experience meeting a Japanese woman whose grandfather was killed in the bombings. This led to more involvement, more introductions, and Mr. Truman Daniel ultimately ended up attending a memorial ceremony in Japan a couple of years ago. What struck me about his story was the lack of hate or animosity between countries. Rather, there was love. Kindness. Comfort. Strength. And how fitting that what the families of the Japanese victims want most of all is that their stories be told. So that we never forget. So that we never do this to each other again.

I was entertained, uplifted, and most of all, I was moved. You could get that way from a theatrical production, maybe a play or a movie. You could get that way from a well-done novel, too. The difference is that this stuff really happened. It has a sense of meaning beyond anything people could dream up. It's real life, in a story.

 

OCT
08

The Apartment

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Let's talk about the apartment. Which won't take long. Because this is New York. Where else can you pay such an obscene amount of money for such a small space? Lest you remind me that I signed up for this, rest assured I'm not complaining. Quite the contrary. I love being so contained. There's so much less to keep track of. To worry about. To lose. To clean.

Not to say there aren't adjustments to be made. Namely, the noises. Again, I'm not complaining, because strangely, being so aware of my neighbors is almost comforting. I spent many a night in my spacious (meaning way more space than one person needs) Cleveland house feeling spooked due to my utter aloneness. Of course, the downside is it means that silence is, well, rare. And, hence, treasured. I try and write a few words in those moments, and with my deskside window overlooking a garden two floors below, it's enough to make up for the fact that I will be awakened at 2 AM by my neighbor's TV and that when the man across the hall draws a bath, I will hear every splash. (Bathroom sounds carry in particular, and hopefully everyone on the third floor has already forgotten that I got carried away last night myself and started singing West Side Story.)

I'll get the hang of it. Hopefully before I get to On the Town.

 

 

OCT
04

Three Bucks, Two Bags, One Me

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Ok, so it was more like 3 bags (plus a backpack and my cat), but I arrived in NYC this week, this time to stay. You could say it's been a long time coming. You could say it's risky. Or crazy. You could say any number of things and you'd probably be right. Because I have no idea what this city holds for me. And between all the noises from the neighbors, the outlandish produce prices (I've decided to cut out all produce in order to keep my Brazilian waxes...stay tuned for a future post entitled From the Desk of the Clinically Malnourished but Smooth), and the overall comprehension of living here being very different than vacationing here, this will certainly be an adjustment. But it has been a dream of mine for as long as I can remember, so while I don't know how things will ultimately shake out, what I do know is that I can see the Empire State Building anytime I want. And sometimes, like tonight, that is enough.

 

SEP
26

Less > More

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So, I'm reading a book right now called The Joy of Less. I'd lump it into a "tell me something I don't know" kind of book (full of principles such as "when one comes in, one goes out," and "narrow it down"...these are not earth-shattering concepts) if not for the fact that absolutely nobody is actually living this way. We get it; we can read a book like this and know we are the guilty ones for having so much crap we don't need--don't even use--yet what we cannot seem to do is get rid of it. The crap.

I'm using crap as a general term here, but the teensy bit of heartburn I feel as I sell, toss, or give away upwards of 90% of what I own is that my stuff is, in fact, not crap. My stuff is nice. So shouldn't I keep it? Don't I deserve to keep it? Haven't I worked hard to get to a point where my house is full of these nice things? While I'm sure there will be a moment after the move where I look around and say, "What happened to all my stuff?" and perhaps even shed a tear or two over being so stripped of belongings, my mantra through all of this is, "Something is only useful if it's being used." And most of my stuff is not. 

And let's also not forget that our stuff doesn't define us. Which can seem counter-intuitive. Because I can point to almost everything in my house and tell you a story about how it came to be mine. And there's a lot of life woven into these stories. Some of these stories are so significant to me that parting with the item will simply not be an option at this point, and that's OK. My point is simply that we must never get confused about what actually constitutes a life, and we must always remember that experiences trump possessions any day. And my hunch is that owning less actually facilitates more in terms of experiences. We have more room in our lives, in every sense of the word. That is what I'm looking forward to most.

SEP
19

How to Move a Cat

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I know, I know, there are certainly more important (and time-consuming) aspects of this move, namely the gargantuan task of getting rid of 90% of my possessions, but as the only living thing I am responsible for other than myself, Clementine is very much on my mind as I plan this move. And I'd like to not only get her there, but get her there in such a way that does not cause her to be scarred for life...or crap repeatedly in her pet carrier.

So, naturally, I'm going to drug her.

I have secured the necessary pills from the vet, have an airline-approved pet carrier on the way, and got her a little collar and pet tag in case she manages to slip out the apartment door and ends up wandering the streets of Manhattan.

New York will be an interesting experience for both of us. Not only because we will both surely pine for all the square footage we have enjoyed in Cleveland, but also because we have never slept in the same room. She goes nutso at night, bringing me her toys, jumping on my feet, basically doing whatever she can to demand my attention. So I close my bedroom door every night. Something you can't do when you live in a studio apartment. Lord help us.

SEP
15

One Way Ticket

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I've been traveling for the past 10 days, most of it in Chicago for work. Delightful city, maybe I'll post a few pics of the sightseeing I did, although it pretty much all involves me eating. And then eating more. Followed closely by more eating. Prior to Chicago, I did sneak in another short NYC trip. By now this is no surprise, surely. I did this in July, too. Also in April. And all the other times before that. What made this trip different--what I hadn't done on any other prior NYC trip--was that I signed a lease.

And so the next few weeks on this blog will be full of my moving preparations (chaotic) and goodbyes to the great, great city of Cleveland (weepy), a city in which I will leave a surprisingly big piece of myself and my heart. More on that later. For now let me leave you with images of possibility and new adventure, city lights and subway stations. If these images also contain a microscopic living space, much less disposable income, and uncertainty about things such as future plans, again, we'll get to that later. I've got boxes to pack.

 

JUL
29

The Poster-Size Boyfriend Picture Fiasco

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Whenever I see people post pictures of themselves looking totally cute, I roll my eyes. It’s so tacky. Anyone who wants people to see them looking totally cute seems like they have something to prove. Or an ulterior self-serving motive.

It reminds me of the time a couple Christmases ago when I wanted to give my boyfriend a framed picture of me to keep on his desk at the office. Of course what started in my mind as a simple 4x6 ultimately turned into something the size of a small poster; a collage of our travels with a picture of me in the center--black and white, slight smile, wind blowing in my hair. It really didn’t occur to me that the now gargantuan thing wouldn’t be feasible to display at work until he told me it wouldn’t be feasible to display at work. I had to settle for the top of the stairs in his house. Which is the moment I realized my motive had more to do with the foot traffic the picture would get at his office, and people being reminded of this solid, witty, and at times (like the time in that photo) adorable presence in his life. The only person who ever saw the picture at the top of his stairs was me, and what good did it do to look at an adorable picture of myself?

Which brings me back to my original beef. And as for the picture on today’s post, I got nothin'. No explanation except that I've been in NYC the past several days, and to me this picture sums up how I feel about NYC, and how much a part of it I feel when I’m there. The buildings, the bakeries, the history, the hubbub. The taxis, the subways, the street signs. It just makes me happy, and so does this picture. (It also makes me look totally cute. Deal with it. Besides, it could be worse. It could be poster size and displayed on your office wall.)

JUL
26

The Thing You Should Never Forget to Pack

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Like an idiot I got on a plane to NYC yesterday with not a single book in tow. Who does that? Let me rephrase. What author does that? I mean, what would I read while eating breakfast at a tucked away cafe where someone famous probably once had breakfast? Or while sitting in Central Park listening to the serenade of the sax man? Or while on the Brooklyn-bound 4 train?

So that's why my first stop upon arrival was Barnes & Noble. I've come all the way to NYC to...buy a book? Then I had breakfast at a tucked away cafe and sat in Central Park. The sax man was playing 'Moon River', which seemed appropriate given that the book I had bought was Breakfast at Tiffany's. My huckleberry friend, indeed. As I sat listening and reading, there was an ant crawling up my back that I could not find, but then again, no moment is perfect. No packing job either.

JUL
22

Why I Miss Carrie Bradshaw

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Are there certain TV shows you’ll watch the reruns of no matter how many times you may have seen the episode before? I’m going to trust that no matter who you are, the answer is yes. There’s always That One Show. For me there are a handful that I’ll sit and chuckle at all these years later, but the one that most often has me sitting through seasons past is Sex and the City.

It’s a show I miss terribly. It’s not the sex. It’s not even the city. OK, maybe it’s a little bit the city, but mostly it’s Carrie Bradshaw and her literary musings about life and love…and being a singleton. Seriously, and I’m not making this up, I feel like I learned a lot from Carrie. Or maybe it’s just that so much of what she said rings true with me. And maybe I’m revealing too much about myself (or maybe it’s just that what I’m revealing is pathetic), but little Carrie snippets come to mind all the time as I go about my life. Most recently during an elevator chat with some co-workers about all the money I shell out as a single, childless person for wedding and baby gifts for other people. It’s not that I mind it, because I quite enjoy giving and celebrating the happiness of others, but as Carrie points out (remember the episode where she registers at Manolo Blahnik…for herself) life as a single girl doesn’t present any opportunities for your friends to repay the favor.

And so this is all to say that if this past weekend found me getting sucked into the SATC marathon on E! (it did), don’t be alarmed. If I come back and watch the DVRed final two episodes again before the week is out (I will), don’t even worry about it. If doing either of these things makes me cry even one time (it does), promise you won’t think me any less of a competent professional. Deal?

MAY
26

Full Circle

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The first story in my new book centers around the Museum of Natural History in New York City. For reasons that seem silly now, it was important that I get myself to the museum during what was my first trip to the city. Even though I realized while at the museum that it wasn't where I wanted to be (and my reason for going would soon enough no longer even apply), in the moment I viewed my being there as nothing short of crucial.

I confess I've avoided returning to the museum on subsequent trips to the city--mostly because it reminds me of a time in life that I'd rather forget--but while in New York last month, I bit the bullet and found myself staring once again at the giant blue whale that opens my second book. It felt a tad eerie, I don't know why, but I was surprised that it also felt a little bit like relief. And, inexplicably, redemption. It had been ten years since I'd last stood there. Think about that. An entire decade of life. And while one school of thought is that my singleton self is still no closer to love or to my dreams than I was then, another school of thought--the one to which I subscribe--is that I am now ten years closer.

See, my fascination with coming full circle has less to do with the deja vu-esque sensation of having been there before, but rather with the much more arresting analysis of all the things that have transpired since being in that scenario or place. When face to face with the whale last month, it became a rather liberating trifecta--part relief for being so far removed from a life path that would have never allowed me to reach any kind of potential, part gratitude over all the experiences I've had over the past decade, and part hope for the dreams yet to be realized as I step out into the world much closer to them than I was back then. So my only advice on this day of remembrance and honor is that if there's a place you've been avoiding because of the memories it generates, bring it on. You will surprise yourself, not just by your ability to handle it, but by the realization that you are a stronger and better person one year, ten years, or fifty down the road. Here's to you. Here's to getting there. And here's to getting there again.

 

APR
15

Big Sky State

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The first (and only) time I had been to Montana was just prior to starting business school. Meant to be a team building, get-to-know-you type of event just before we began the school year, my classmates and I were shipped off in 15-passenger vans across the west, Montana-bound. We were to spend the week white water rafting, but we pulled up to camp in the middle of a downpour. The rain didn't stop all day, such that most of us ended up huddled back in the vans to keep dry. The thought of having to set up a tent--let alone sleep in it--while battling such weather was horrifying to me, such that I found myself wondering aloud: "They can't make us stay here, can they?" My classmates teased me and my lack of endurance for the next 2 years over that comment, but whatever. I had a point. I knew they were all thinking the same thing.

I returned to Montana this past weekend for only the second time in my life. I'm probably even less outdoorsy now than I was the first time around, but I feel like at least this time, I was able to experience and appreciate Montana in a truer sense. Farms, chickens, horses, rabbits, deer heads mounted on the walls of the grocery store, parents who name their children names like Remington, a Main Street composed of only second-hand stores. I confess I found Montana beautiful. And, for lack of a better word, restful. That doesn't mean I could live there. Or endure sitting out in the rain for days just because the mountains are nice to look at. But, especially coming directly after my weekend in NYC, I couldn't help but appreciate this slice of country life. (I said appreciate...not prefer.)

APR
10

Wishing

One of my favorite things to do in NYC is to go to the Times Square museum. (Hopes and Dreams.) There one can write her wishes for the year on little confetti squares; confetti squares that are shot into the air in Times Square on New Years Eve at the stroke of midnight; the very same confetti squares you see on your TV screen, slowly sailing through the air while everyone kisses and sings. It is, quite franky, irresistable to me. This making of wishes. This method of confetti deployment. I won't show you my own wish--it's far too sentimental, although albeit a step more respectable than last year's wish--but here are a sampling of others. From the practical to the off-hand to the just plain funny, I love the wall of wishes. And I can't wait to see their flight come NYE.

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APR
07

If/Then

 

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Today is my birthday. I'd say that my age is starting to approach a point where birthdays bring up more dread than excitement, but that isn't really how I feel. Because these thirty-something years are worth celebrating. They are everything. They are me. And I like myself much more now than I ever did when I was younger. It's like I once heard a woman say when discussing the appearance of wrinkles on her face...she said they represented the life she had lived, so why would she be bothered by them?

This particular birthday does find me more pensive than usual, if for no other reason than since my last birthday, I've had my first experience with true heartbreak. And holidays in general make it very easy to compare our lives to previous years. Last year, my boyfriend gave me the sweetest and most perfect birthday gift. Last year, I was pretty convinced we would get married. Last year, I was the happiest I had ever been in my life. This year, I am alone. This year, I miss him. This year, what the f**k?

I'm in NYC today, which by now you should know how much I love this city. I went to see Idina Menzel's new show yesterday, and the whole thing centers around decisions and the impacts those decisions--even small ones--have on our lives. What if I'd never moved to Cleveland? What it I hadn't taken that job? What if I'd left that party ten minutes earlier and never met that man or answered that phone call or sent that text. Or whatever. As the show ultimately says, we only get one life, so we have to let the rest of the "other me's" go, but the theme that most resonated with me as I sat listening yesterday was the idea that when disaster strikes our decisions, does that mean we would have chosen differently? In other words, if you knew something would fall apart and leave you irreversibly devastated, would you have made a different decision? I'm in Camp No, as I believe anyone who's smart should be, though admittedly it's hard to stick to your guns on that when heartbreak has you constantly aware of everything you've lost.

Ultimately the show encourages us to love while we can. Whenever, wherever, however, and I do believe that's a solid message. Especially in a world where when it comes to love, we tend to give up way too soon. We tend to shy away from things that seem hard or complicated. It's not just that it seems easier to walk away, it's that it is easier to walk away. And if easy and less complicated trump the satisfaction and contentment of being with someone who truly makes you better, then by all means, walk away. But first, go see this show. It might change your mind.

 

 

 

DEC
31

NYE Reboot

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Remember this post? Hopes and Dreams Well, this is the night. The night my wish gets shot into the sky at midnight in the middle of Times Square. And so I'm thinking about wishes. About hope. And also about resolutions. About resolving. To stop. To start. To move on. To never forget. To be happy. To make a change. Whatever it is, do it. Do it this year.

Happy 2014.

NOV
28

Grateful

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In thinking today about what I’m grateful for, my mind went back to the moment a few months ago when I snapped this picture. The man I loved had just decided to break up with me instead of propose, and I was completely undone. Questioning everything from my actions to my attributes, in that moment all I knew was that it hadn’t been enough. That I hadn’t been enough. Which is why seeing these words scrawled on the side of the Brooklyn Bridge as I walked across stopped me in my tracks.

I won’t say these months have been easy ones. As horribly not-put-together as this makes me sound, I still miss him. Us. But if I’m grateful for anything today, it is the resilience of the human spirit. I’m grateful for support, even if it comes from far away. Grateful for the chance to take new paths, even if they aren’t the ones I would have chosen. Grateful that the things we have will always trump those we do not. Grateful to feel so blessed, today and always.

NOV
23

Road Trip

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I was on the road this week for work, and while I did decide to fly for the longest stretches of the trip, most of the week I was driving. In fact, I feel like that’s all I did. Drive. You have to know me and my relationship with driving to understand how truly significant this is, but after a week of driving all over 4 states I am by and large unfamiliar with, I managed to always get where I was going. Not only without incident, but without so much as a wrong turn. It was unprecedented. And considering one evening found me in the thick of NYC rush-hour traffic, my ultimate goal being Long Island (um, has anyone ever tried driving to Long Island?), actually getting there—and in the dark of night, no less—made me want to fall to the floor of the blessed Marriott that housed me that evening and weep for having arrived in one piece.

Instead I wept when I got home last night. I’m not sure why. Partly because I was exhausted. Because the NYC drive surely took years off my life. Partly because I got to meet up with my Airman brother while on the road, and I’m so incredibly proud of him. Partly because the world is such a beautiful place, and one you can only see close up when you do exactly what I had done—drive. And perhaps partly because I returned to Cleveland full of tales from the road, and the only one here to greet me was my cat.

Since there is no one on hand to listen, I’ll have to tell you, dear readers, that a detour in Maryland took me through the most beautiful patch of land I’ve seen in years. I stopped in the middle of the winding country road just to take it all in. I glanced over my shoulder with a smile as I passed Coney Island and drove across the Verrazano Bridge on the clearest and most beautiful day imaginable. People had pulled off the road and gotten out of their cars just to look out and sigh for a minute before rolling on. And when I crossed the Susquehanna yesterday, I thought about Billy Collins and his poem about fishing in July. Not because I’ve ever fished the Susquehanna, but then again, neither has Billy. In any case, I’m grateful for the trip, grateful to be home, and grateful to now put away the GPS.

NOV
04

Flee to the Cleve

You know that episode of Friends when Chandler and Monica take Erica on a tour of NYC and Chandler comes back to their apartment all decked out in touristy garb and declares, "New York is awesome!" He explains, "I've been to these places before, but I've never really seen them, you know." Now isn't that always the way.

I had company in town last week, and it gave me the rare opportunity to actually see Cleveland. It's no New York, as I believe I've mentioned pretty much weekly since this blog's inception, but I'm quite fond of it, and there's so much I'd like to be taking better advantage of. I kept thinking how much I was enjoying myself, how much more a person is able to do and see when she doesn't have to be at work. I know, I know, without work I wouldn't be able to afford to DO anything, I'm just saying (once again) how nice it would be to be independently wealthy. Which I will be once I sell about a million more books. Glass half full, people.

Anyway, here are a few shots from my week in the city. The city where I live but rarely see.

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