The way I recovered my day when my heart was so broken was I leaned into the good weather and let it lead me where I needed to go. Which included city parks and four (count’em four) ferries for the price of one and dancing on the top deck with Argentinians and Swedes I befriended when the weather grew choppy, everyone clutching each other, somebody ducking below deck and emerging with tequila and o my the laughter so that somehow my quick trip from 34th street to North Williamsburg ended up being a slow boat to Queens and Roosevelt Island and Gracie Mansion (irony of ironies) and the Bronx and then back, back, back, to Wall Street and Dumbo, the city drifting by in a reverie of freshly cut grass and building back-bones, all steel and glass and mermaid murk, and by the time I pitched back to Williamsburg shores, I had my grin back, if a tad manic. Then coffee under a tree with a longlost pal and long legs in bright sunlight and more tequila and ceviche with young(ish) people I dig and the whole time my cell phone hovering at 1 percent battery charge so I’d have it in a pinch but couldn’t really use it. Magic, really.
When people you love die, when you miss other people by a mile, you must embrace your city and your life with all the gusto you can summon. Be grateful for what still thrives.
I loved Rebecca Collerton. She was gruff but she had to be, what with that huge heart she was toting around and our retrogressive world and her utter inability to suffer fools. She always snuck a cookie into my bag—a nudge, which she and Caroline Fidanza let me name—and she helped me launch my Ruby Intuition practice. It wasn’t just that she and Saltie co-owners Elizabeth Schula and Caroline had me read for everybody who was anybody on their little brown bench on New Years Day, 2010. It was that she hand-lettered my signs and made a special potion to take the edge off the readings by relabeling a Powers Whiskey bottle “Psychic Powers Whiskey” and then kept quietly quietly refilling my glass when I wasn’t looking. I knew if I had Bex’s seal of approval then I couldn’t totally be full of shit and I went from there, her good wind all I needed on my back. And she let me read for her and took what I saw to heart enough to let it be good wind on her back. Continue Reading →
This was a man I’d seen on a subway and then on a sidewalk and then on a subway, a man who had finally strode up to me with a grin and worried, kind eyes and said, “I fear I’d be terribly remiss if I did not say hello” and it was ok, the way he phrased it, because he was British and it didn’t feel like we were in the present so much as a noir of a neverexistent 1930s–
–a present that seemed like a future of a past infinitely purer and prettier than anything dreamed by this present–
and so we began circling each other, going for walks in the parks, meeting for chaste diner breakfasts, falling in step with birds, early spring air, the stoops of 90s brownstone brooklyn jamaican patties kids biking barbeque smoke smog pollen, until one day he bent down and his mouth met mine
and we fell into each other like it was where we were supposed to be all along. Continue Reading →