Village Life

After a seriously grueling Sunday morning spent on the phone with some majorly annoying clients of mine I took a 40 minute walk through the most picturesque part of the village. Mastic Beach is a very pretty place and I could imagine myself living here. A little dollhouse with a porch by the bay, peace and quiet, inspiration to write, a little dog, my little cat...

It reminded me of the long walks I used to take in Manton, walking Mick and Rosie's two dogs when I was 16. Down the Old Road, past the cemetery where my grandad is buried and where my father's ashes lay, out to Rutland Water and back up through the village where I was born and lived the first 8 years of my life.

I've lived in towns and cities more than I have lived in villages, but I will always be a village girl. I miss the life, the community, the quiet and the memories. I always remember wild weather and happy summers.

And here's a trip down memory lane... The Janitors and my dad in the back with the dark glasses on. Mid-80's. <3

Walking on by

Last night I walked from work on 34th and Park to the Essex Delancey J train stop. Ipod on full blast, dusk falling around me, each song hitting the exact right moment in time along the route. Walking slowly from the suits, through the Union Sq throng, past a woman fast asleep on the ground on Ave A, into hipster/punk/LES town and then down into the musty subway tunnels. I felt like I was floating past people who belonged somewhere while never belonging anywhere myself. For once it didn't bother me as I felt like a spectator walking past a very long movie set.

I should have written this when I got home last night - I can't convey the exact feelings I had properly today.