A friend once told me she walked in the woods every day because the woods were her church, and why wouldn’t you pray every day when your church was so beautiful? Today I spent Yom Kippur in such a church–a temple, really–and really did find prayer and fasting and atonement so much easier. Guided by lower and upper case grace, I walked the paths of my friend’s beautiful land–pink, amber, ochre, grey. I prayed to my ancestors for forgiveness for how I failed their line, asked G-d to help me be a better vessel in the second half of my life, talked aloud to the highest spirits of those with whom I am blocked. Light-headed and clear-hearted, that’s how I felt when the sun disappeared again. Good. G’mar Tov, beautiful people. You are my temple.
As I write this, it is 2:23 pm, the world is exploding, I am completely stuck on all my writing projects, my sunflowers are sagging, and it is too hot to do anything outside happily. But my house is beautifully cool—I sprang for a second AC when I got an extra gig last month—and my refrigerator is brimming with good ideas: produce from the local greenmarkets, red and white wine, seafood from Chelsea Market, butter from an Upstate friend, supplies from the old-school Italian grocery down the street. So I am cooking a crab risotto, the decline of western civilization be damned. Continue Reading →