This is August
It's been nearly a month, and now I'm back. You might say that time flies, but I say that from a non-linear, non-subjective view-point, it's really just a ball of wibbly, wobbly, time-whimey stuff. Either way, it's good to be back in the blogosphere.
It's been hot, hotter than ever, with no rain and no reprieve. We've been making iced coffee (even Mr. Mersy likes it when I use the hazelnut instant coffee) and escaping to Brighton beach whenever we can.
Three weekends ago we fled from the nitty gritty of the city with friends and made our way into the Hudson Valley to Stormking Art Park. It was breath-taking.
To be yanked from our neighborhood where the population density is 90,000 per square mile to acres and acres of mountain meadows and valley overlooks was glorious.
Just to remember that the rest of the world exists even if your stuck in NYC working two jobs in neighborhoods that stink of trash and garlic day in and day out is probably the most concrete example of experiencing "grace" that I've ever had.
We picnicked and hiked and ran down the hills and posed with the statues and splashed in the fountains and just stood quietly looking out at the hills and the clouds.
And then we flung our arms out wide and took deep breaths until we collapsed in the sweet grass and just soaked up the silence. It was a day of grace, pure and simple.
Oddly enough, despite the heat, I finished a nice, big cozy blanket the other day. It felt good to tie on the last pompom and think- ta-dah! Nothings ever really finished until there's pompoms on top.
Oh and there's been some fantastic reading going on around here this month. Besides trying to stay afloat in the constant, fascinating onslaught of the New Yorker and the Economist, I've been reveling in fiction recently:
Besides these gems I've also finished Salman Rushdie's East West, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (intense!), and The Cat That Moved a Mountain (I'm not proud of this one, but I did indeed read it).
Penny's been oddly mellow this month- perhaps she's entering into her "mature and matronly dog" stage and leaving her wild and rambunctious puppyness behind. Or maybe she's just trying to lull us into a false sense of confidence before she stages her ultimate, sneaky, caper? All I know is that she had a bath after the beach the other day and for the first time ever didn't tear around the apartment in circles, but rather just wriggled demurely for a few minutes on the couch. Who is this dog?
My creaky bones had been behaving themselves for a while, but this month they've been back to their old mischief. I've been trying not to use my cane (it just makes it worse over the long haul) and just move and walk as much as I can. We took a nice stroll through the farmer's market that sets up every other Sunday near the local basketball court.
It made me nostalgic for Illinois. I couldn't help it. Bins of sweet corn in New York City are no substitute for waiting till the trucks loaded with fresh-picked ears rolled into our little town early each morning, the corn silk still damp with dew.
But even in New York the colors of produce are striking:
On our way home we stopped on the street and shared and ear of Mexican street corn. It's one of those things that really isn't so great but really is so, so good.
And then, suddenly, in the middle of last week all the lights on our block went out. From 6:30pm-2:30am we were without power.
And it would have been fine, but it's August, and the evening was stifling, without a breath of air, and opening the windows made no difference at all. The nightly low was ridiculously high, and humidity was about 70%. The hallways reeked of urine and pot, and the streets reeked of trash.
Mr. Mersy and I lay on the floor in pools of sweat in front of the windows waiting for even the tiniest breeze. But it never came. Our ice cubes melted and I cooked up some of Mr. Mersy's meat by candle light on our gas stove until it became too hot to light the burners. It was an adventurous night steeped in rancid somnolence.
I'll be back to catch up again soon. I hope your days have been blessed with business and your nights blessed with rest. Have a lovely Sunday, one and all.
Lots of love,
~Mersydotes
It's been hot, hotter than ever, with no rain and no reprieve. We've been making iced coffee (even Mr. Mersy likes it when I use the hazelnut instant coffee) and escaping to Brighton beach whenever we can.
Three weekends ago we fled from the nitty gritty of the city with friends and made our way into the Hudson Valley to Stormking Art Park. It was breath-taking.
To be yanked from our neighborhood where the population density is 90,000 per square mile to acres and acres of mountain meadows and valley overlooks was glorious.
Just to remember that the rest of the world exists even if your stuck in NYC working two jobs in neighborhoods that stink of trash and garlic day in and day out is probably the most concrete example of experiencing "grace" that I've ever had.
We picnicked and hiked and ran down the hills and posed with the statues and splashed in the fountains and just stood quietly looking out at the hills and the clouds.
And then we flung our arms out wide and took deep breaths until we collapsed in the sweet grass and just soaked up the silence. It was a day of grace, pure and simple.
Oddly enough, despite the heat, I finished a nice, big cozy blanket the other day. It felt good to tie on the last pompom and think- ta-dah! Nothings ever really finished until there's pompoms on top.
Oh and there's been some fantastic reading going on around here this month. Besides trying to stay afloat in the constant, fascinating onslaught of the New Yorker and the Economist, I've been reveling in fiction recently:
Besides these gems I've also finished Salman Rushdie's East West, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (intense!), and The Cat That Moved a Mountain (I'm not proud of this one, but I did indeed read it).
Penny's been oddly mellow this month- perhaps she's entering into her "mature and matronly dog" stage and leaving her wild and rambunctious puppyness behind. Or maybe she's just trying to lull us into a false sense of confidence before she stages her ultimate, sneaky, caper? All I know is that she had a bath after the beach the other day and for the first time ever didn't tear around the apartment in circles, but rather just wriggled demurely for a few minutes on the couch. Who is this dog?
My creaky bones had been behaving themselves for a while, but this month they've been back to their old mischief. I've been trying not to use my cane (it just makes it worse over the long haul) and just move and walk as much as I can. We took a nice stroll through the farmer's market that sets up every other Sunday near the local basketball court.
But even in New York the colors of produce are striking:
On our way home we stopped on the street and shared and ear of Mexican street corn. It's one of those things that really isn't so great but really is so, so good.
And then, suddenly, in the middle of last week all the lights on our block went out. From 6:30pm-2:30am we were without power.
And it would have been fine, but it's August, and the evening was stifling, without a breath of air, and opening the windows made no difference at all. The nightly low was ridiculously high, and humidity was about 70%. The hallways reeked of urine and pot, and the streets reeked of trash.
Mr. Mersy and I lay on the floor in pools of sweat in front of the windows waiting for even the tiniest breeze. But it never came. Our ice cubes melted and I cooked up some of Mr. Mersy's meat by candle light on our gas stove until it became too hot to light the burners. It was an adventurous night steeped in rancid somnolence.
I'll be back to catch up again soon. I hope your days have been blessed with business and your nights blessed with rest. Have a lovely Sunday, one and all.
Lots of love,
~Mersydotes
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