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Things That Fall from the Sky*

Back in Ohio, in December. It was still warm, and the rest of my family was busy with their million endeavors, so I took a walk through the woods along the ravine behind our house. The woods eventually lead to a park, empty apart from the solitary swingset. There was nothing to do but try it out. It did me a world of good to remind myself that I'd never forgotten how to pump my legs to go higher. Feet pointing to the sky. The sensation of my stomach rising and falling in my insides pushed out the sound of a laugh I hadn't heard since I was very, very young. The only thing I had forgotten was how to stop. And I was too scared to jump. So I just kept pumping my legs, higher and higher, falling up into and out of the sky, the smell of iron on my hands from the chains...


In New York, today. Had a nightmare last night involving a jumbo jet skidding its tail into the earth. The jet then swung its nose around and grabbed its injured tail before morphing into an alien robot holding hundreds of human-shaped aliens (all wearing very midwestern clothes) in its claws. When it released them, they scattered like silverfish across the ground and came skittering towards our window, which we quickly shut, huddling inside. The nightmare is incidental; I only mention it because it foretold ominous things approaching in the sky. And today there was something ominous and beautiful, something that made me giddy: snow.

We have had the most lukewarm winter - deeply unsatisfying, in spite of the weather affording us one blissful 70 degree day of light jackets. Even on that day, the beast of winter stooped over us, making sure no one felt entirely comfortable with the prospect of eating outdoors in New York in January. Everyone walked around looking at the sky, as if they suspected some sort of instant change, a weather conspiracy, the wrath of the gods. An alien invasion. This can't be right. And it wasn't. Winter means scarves, mittens, hot chocolate, snow.

This morning, as I sat in my office contemplating the best way to start eating my elaborately constructed chocolate & almond croissant, I looked out the window and noticed a dark, smoke-like mist moving up and across the Hudson. And I whispered: "snow!" I ran from office to office calling out to others: "I think it's snow!" We waited, watching its ominous approach. And then, though the weathermen and women of New York City had predicted no such thing, minutes later, we watched as the first few flakes went skittering through the sky, like silverfish.

*To borrow a title from Kevin Brockmeier


Air drumming injuries

"Air Drum Bride Busts My Hooter"

Stone Roses? Air drumming? I'm shocked this isn't a story about me. The husband and I have been known to carry on long arguments over the specific placement of crash cymbals in our air drum kits.

(This is likely the first and last time you'll ever see me link to The Sun... thanks to our friend, Steve Lamacq. I need to cleanse myself by linking to The Guardian, so go read about Morrissey possibly singing in Eurovision.)



Time it was and what a time it was it was
A time of innocence a time of confidences.

A list of books Art Garfunkel has been reading since June 1968. He read Didion back in the day. (via kottke)


Sunday Zen


Just for one day

On my way in to work today, I saw two men stooping to help a woman collect the contents of her spilled knapsack. One of the men, big and burly and be-sweatshirted, said the following: "You know what they say about 2007? That it's going to be the year of perfection. Everything's going to be alright." On the train, a woman was reading a paper; on the cover: 'WEEK OF HEROES'. Stories of the city's heroes have even made it to The Guardian. It's what every New Yorker should do, says the man reluctant to be called hero. "Good things happen when you do good."

It should be more common here. I once helped an older man navigate a sloping ice-covered curb by offering him my hand, and he took it with joy on the verge of tears, as if never in his life had he heard of something so wonderful as someone offering a hand to a stranger.