According to the AccuWeather Widget, the current conditions in Brooklyn are: Winds from NE at 13 mph; Scattered showers of bouncing pearls.
I wanted to hug today; the day itself. I had the day off from work, but I was in Manhattan early enough to see the snow really start to come down in Rockefeller Center. I haven’t been anywhere near Rockefeller Center in months. I don’t think I ever laid eyes on last year’s tree. And though I’m never looking for an opportunity to rub elbows with tourists in ski jackets, there was an infectious strain of excitement in the air there.
I blinked flakes from my eye lashes. I said ‘good morning’ to the guy rolling out the snow mats at the entrance to J.Crew. I got a smile from a tiny kid trying on ginormous earmuffs.
I also got 20% off my purchase.
I like The First Snow. What’s not to like?
Flutter of butterflies via ffffound.
This week I have been listening to:
Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1
Let Me Touch You For Awhile by Allison Krauss
Good Mother by Jann Arden
United by Bon Jovi
Running by Evermore
. . . Alumni Corn Roast, let’s begin . . .
When the Universe
asks, “Hey Em, where you wanna
go?” I’ll say, “Right there.”
Return to Texas
Re-remember my birthplace.
Here I come, lame duck.
I heard thrilling news at work today. I’m going to San Antonio for a conference in November! It will be just a few weeks after a new president is elected, and George W. Bush, who has cast a bit of a pallor over one of my favorite autobiographical facts for the last seven and a half years, will by then just be waiting out the last of his last term.
I’ve always been proud that I was born in Texas. Not many kids in Connecticut come from too far west of the Ohio River or south of the Mason-Dixon line. Having San Antonio on my birth certificate, learning to crawl while my parents kept their eyes open for scorpions and roly-poly bugs (delicious!), playing in patches of bluebells, riding around the Alamo in a stroller, teething on tortillas—these things made my infancy and toddlerhood special. I love that I was once a yellow rose.
Yesterday afternoon, ordering coffee inside the impressively beautiful Minneapolis Central Library . . .
When your ears burn, it means somebody is talking about you or thinking about you or something, right? What does it mean when your ears feel like they’re glowing, like they’re being nuzzled from afar?
Something invisible just tickled my ears like only wine or naked praise can. They burned so hotly I got chills down my spine.
Does that mean somebody somewhere was thinking some really, really nice thoughts?