It hits me, not for the 20th time, that the books and newspapapers are piling up. I have always been a read a book straight through person, then read it again and again, if I like it. Now I read them a third through because I would rather be blogging. But I can’t; I just can’t. If I don’t read who will? Yes I’m a supreme egotist, but I did buy stock in B&N, a bad move, just because I frequent them so much.
Now we have Borders which I like better, and they have Dean & Deluca in their cafe instead of Starbucks, but I feel a loyalty to my stock and to my discount card and the extra discount card they sent me for the holidays.
I like print; I like to feel one with what I’m reading and a computer screen just doesn’t make me feel all cozy with the material. I spent the entire day up close to my computer screen; very close because I’m so near sighted and refuse to wear glasses when I read or write. It just doesn’t feel the same.
It’s night now and time to begin my day. Night is when I feel most alive; night is when I want the sun to shine. Thought that was a truly stupid sentence until I reread it, and didn’t push delete. The way the world is going I feel that anything bad is possible. But I also believe in the beauty of life and the beauty of dreams.
I don’t believe in slogans such as “what would you do if nothing was impossible?” But I have it on a plaque and stare at it sometimes. So I must believe in something, sometimes. Joan Didion can go through a year of mourning and write a beautiful book about it in less time than it takes me to decide what to have for breakfast.
Maybe my start button has been stuck; maybe it’s been working all the time and I just haven’t noticed. I think that I have accomplished more than it seems; I think I’m on the royal road to something. But first I need to think about breakfast. Uh, small problem; it’s time to go out to dinner.
This post is Bone inspired. He’s single, straight, a great writer and a great person who lives in Alabama but knows more about Seinfeld than I do.
Frankly any time I can get a cab from Penn Station I consider it a Miracle on 34th Street; but when I was a kid, and still…the original movie with Natalie Wood was one of my five favorite movies, and I watched at least three times during the holidays
I ran up and down the block. It was somewhere around Great Neck/ Lake Success/Manhasset/Roslyn; I believe off the service road from the Expressway which hadn’t been there when the movie was made.
“Buy a house here.”
As my parents were looking for a house and had included my sister and I in the selection process it wasn’t as crazy as it sounded. They asked if I saw a house for sale, or if there was a particular one that I was looking for.
I was so excited I couldn’t speak in complete sentences. I was also bundled in a heavy winter coat with hood that my mom had ran to put on my head, earmuffs, scarf and gloves. I must have looked like a snow girl in perpetual motion.
“That, that, that..house…Natalie Wood….”
It took about five minutes for them to understand that it was the house that Natalie Wood had moved into at the end of Miracle on 34th Street. I was about eight.
“Do you see a ‘for sale’ sign?”
“A house has to have to a ‘for sale’ sign on it.”
“No it doesn’t. We’ve been to houses that didn’t have for sale signs on it.”
“We went with a broker. You know that.”
My parents had me mixed up with a genius. I was confused and stood there crying until they made me come back into the car. Though it was supposed to be Italian night, my sister’s favorite food we had Chinese which was my favorite and the only thing that made me stop crying. I wasn’t a crier. Really. So when I did cry my parents generally did what I wanted to do, unless it was dangerous etc etc.
We didn’t move for another four years. We almost did move to a house right near there but ended up further down the expressway.
I still loved the movie and especially loved the ending. I would still love to live in a house that looks like that one. Some dreams never die; they just languish.