winds of change

I woke up around 5am this morning–a sudden, severe storm blew across Brooklyn, complete with booming thunder.  Then the rain subsided and the birds started their early morning conversation…I love birds, but they chatter more than tweens and always when I’m trying to sleep!  On Sunday I drove up to MA for the last time, showed my car to four prospective buyers, and sold it within a few hours–hurray!  Two of my appointments canceled at the last minute, but I took it in stride–went to Marshall’s and bought some clothes, went to Staples and bought packing supplies.  It was sunny, but windy and cool with pollen so thick it looked like snow was falling at times…the next day, once I’d handed my car over to the buyer, the valley looked quite different to me.  I hadn’t slept well the night before (endo pain + chirping birds) and suddenly the pollen wasn’t pretty–as I waited for an HOUR for the local bus to arrive, I coughed, sniffed, sneezed, and tried not to rub my eyes.  I never really wanted to own a car, but I have to say–I never would have survived three years in Massachusetts without one.  I was *so* happy to finally get back to NYC–as soon as the Greyhound bus pulled into the Bronx, the man across from me got up, said something to the driver, and then the door opened and he simply got off and wove his way through the traffic…and it didn’t even seem strange to me–I was almost envious!  But that’s what the city’s like for me–I feel you could drop me anywhere in NYC and I’d be fine.  I wouldn’t feel stranded or desperate or frustrated b/c I know how to navigate the city.  But the country–forget about it!  I waited an hour for the bus, and during that time didn’t see ONE taxi, didn’t know the name of a cab company I could call, and for a moment even considered hitch-hiking!  I grew up in a semi-rural environment, but I am definitely a city girl now.  As the bus drove through Harlem, I could just feel my heart sigh…I actually began composing phrases to express my feeling of relief–there’s *nothing* like coming home to New York.  I look at Harlem–or Brooklyn–and I see past lives; I see history, and the buildings–which have stood on those blocks for over a hundred years–those buildings are my assurance.  They insist upon a tradition, a trajectory, a kind of continuity between my small life and something much larger.  Anyway, sorry to go on and on.  I was just so glad to be back, even though I’d only been gone a day.  The best part of my final commute (aside from selling my car!) was spending time with my friends and their two kids (and two cats).  I like to think of myself as a good aunty, but I’m really kind of bad at it b/c I lack stamina.  I never knew I could be defeated by the simple task of bathing a 3-year old!  I just learned that a friend of mine is pregnant, and it took a lot for me to muster some genuine enthusiasm.  “Be happy NOW,” I told her.  “Find a way to give yourself joy, because having a child is HARD WORK!”  Which isn’t to say that parents lead joyless lives.  I guess I’m still not sure why people have kids, exactly.  For lots of different reasons, I suppose.  I gave a presentation at a huge high school in Bay Ridge yesterday–what an amazing place!  Streets lined with palatial houses, a school by the water that was once a country club, and a library filled with books and computers and really bright students, outstanding teachers, and wonderful librarians.  I got the gig through the Brooklyn Public Library, and if you haven’t made a donation yet, please do–the BPL is in desperate need of support, especially with this awful economy.  The students had lots of great questions about Bird, and publishing, and the relationship between my writing and my family (“Bird uses his eraser to fix pictures that are messed up.  Do you erase messed up people from your life?”).  Then the librarians graciously offered me biscuits and croissants, and we talked about ways to manage stress.  People often say I look so relaxed, yet I’m a total anxiety freak!  But I’m learning to be in each moment.  It’s ironic–the thing that makes me a good writer–always asking “What if? What if? What if?”–is the very thing that makes me so anxious.  But sometimes you just have to let go…