Details

Sunday, a perfect new whole Sunday for us. We've had another memorable New York weekend filled with each other and New York. Friday we decided, since we are getting older each day and feeling more tired than ever from living here (Lauren taught me that your first several months in New York are spent in a fog of sheer exhaustion and then you just get over it and keep going - I'm not sure if I've explained that here yet or not) that we would come home after work, take naps and wake up to pub crawl the Upper East Side. We kicked off our night at Cavatappo, an intimate wine lounge right around the corner from our place. We shared a carafe of Malbec, delighted by the ambience and the long tabletop made of wine corks laminated in a thick clear surface. Then we headed over to Rathbones, a pub up the street, where we ordered beer and appetizers. The appetizers were alright, the beer was good, and after 2 rounds we went to a third bar, which neither of us can identify by name (at this point we basically fell into whatever bar came next) and we ordered, still unsure precisely why, mojitos. I've heard of these before but never had ordered one, assuming it was a sweet cocktail which never appeals to me. The mojitos were gooood. Too good. By round 2 of these, I began to physically recoil from the evening's events. We were having such a great time, but I couldn't possibly finish my second minty mojito. Somewhere in there Craig ordered a Jack and Coke, as well (he likes to order those as caffeine boosters sometimes - and because he likes a Jack and Coke now and then). So, we came home before midnight, but whatever the combination, even with a whole night of sleep, I still woke hungover. We nursed our hangovers with illy coffee and bagels and several recorded shows from the new tv week. Then I showered and packed a bag with a notebook, some loose leaf paper, 2 favorite pens and This is Not Chick Lit, kissed Craig goodbye for the afternoon, and headed to the 6 train at 86th Street. I settled into a seat on the train and just as we departed for the next stop, a couple of Latin American men entered the car from the adjacent car, the first man wearing a classical guitar slung over his chest, the second carrying an accordion. They both wore elaborate western button downs and cowboy hats and boots. My head felt yet cluttered and I had hoped for a quiet ride to SoHo. Instead, the men stood on either side of the car too near where I sat and broke into a cheerful Latin acoustic tune. Normally this would have pleased me. However, the song was loud and the guitarist's vocals were just barely off key. Anyway, they finished their song and held out their hats for tips, then exited the train somewhere around 23rd Street. I got off at Spring Street, feeling all the pride I still feel for navigating my own way in New York these days - Craig not necessary. Don't get me wrong, I adore his sense of direction and his ability to show cities off to me. But I remember back to a time where New York seemed like such a tangled weave of subways and streets that I figured I would never know how to be in Manhattan alone. Now, I'm getting better all the time. Granted, I'm still leagues and leagues from finding my way entirely. I lean heavily on the subway lines to act as my guide. Anyway, so I emerged from the subway at Spring Street to greet the wonderful energy of SoHo, the liveliest little streets, the crowds of New Yorkers blended with tourists. I ducked into a Starbucks after finding the building where my writing workshop would be held. Then, with my latte and bottle of water in hand, I entered the old building. Someone directed me to the back, I believe he called it "the tea room," or I imagined that. There sat Elizabeth, in a circle of empty chairs, rifling through some papers and a notebook. She introduced herself happily and welcomed me to her Saturday class. We chatted for a few minutes before other women began to trickle in. The room was high-ceilinged, the floors wood, the walls brick and covered in framed new art. It felt warm and inspiring. Once everyone had arrived, Elizabeth began the class. It was wonderful. We wrote lots of timed exercises, the kind where the imagination gets switched on and can't shut down because you aren't supposed to stop moving your pen. We shared ideas, expanded on ideas within new exercises borrowing from previous ones, and explored reasons for writer's block. Elizabeth has an extremely open and honest personality. I got the feeling I would benefit greatly if I were to take one of her long courses. My favorite thing she said: "The stories of humans repeat ad infinitum, but the details change." So completely true!*I need to recognize my ability to unfold events between characters, instead of garbling on with too much exposition. This whole writing process is incredible. I don't remember poetry being so multi-layered (although I love poetry and I simply love that I spent so much time getting to know it back when). It feels like there are basic fiction elements that I need to break apart and piece back together in order to attempt fiction. What's tricky in it, is that I can detect the elements in someone else's story. Now how do I proceed in creating those elements on my own?*So today is Sunday, and we're missing a wedding at Bear Mountain (north, I believe?) My friends Eric and Lynn are getting married this afternoon. Surveying the financial obligations we have in these next few months, it just didn't seem feasible to attend today. I feel terrible to miss it but I will see pictures and certainly, Lauren will someday play the song she has written for their ceremony for me. Instead, today I am going to head out into the neighborhood to spend 15 minutes in one place (my homework assignment for class). Then I will come home and write a several-page sketch of what I see, hear, feel, taste and smell in that single spot. If I haven't said so before, New York is filled with sensory information. Just stuffed with it.*One last detail: I've been a patron of the same wine shop since we moved into the Upper East Side. It's a narrow store, dimly lit and operated by a couple of handsome, I gather, European? young men. Yesterday, on my way home from Elizabeth's workshop, I ducked into the store for some wine. The gentleman smiled shyly at me as he rang me up and said, "Do you live in the neighborhood?" I smiled back and said, "Yes I do. So you are my staple wine store." He looked down at my receipt and put his hands to his temples as if massaging the information into memory and said, "I will remember your name." Then later, I walked down the block to pick up a pizza for Craig and me, and I passed him at the corner. He called out my name and waved. I love New York. *PS--Happy Birthday to the Best Girl I Could Ever Share Initials With: KB. Craig's sis. Happy Birthday Kara!