At the same moment the ground gave way, and with a cry she fell out of the wood. Light and beauty enveloped her. She had fallen on to a little open terrace, which was covered with violets from end to end.
"Courage!" cried her companion, now standing some six feet above. "Courage and love."
She did not answer. From her feet the ground sloped sharply into view, and violets ran down in rivulets and streams and cataracts, irrigating the hillside with blue, eddying round the tree stems collecting into pools in the hollows, covering the grass with spots of azure foam. But never again were they in such profusion; this terrace was the well-head, the primal source whence beauty gushed out to water the earth.
Standing at its brink, like a swimmer who prepares, was the good man. But he was not the good man that she had expected, and he was alone.
George had turned at the sound of her arrival. For a moment he contemplated her, as one who had fallen out of heaven. He saw radiant joy in her face, he saw the flowers beat against her dress in blue waves. The bushes above them closed. He stepped quickly forward and kissed her.
- A Room With A View, E.M. Forester
One of the most beautiful moments in literary and cinematic history. One hardly needs the picture to conjure the glorious image.
I like it that the people who live here have guts. I like it that we're good in a pinch, even though half the time we'll walk over your dying body if we're late to work. I like that the bagels are good and the hot dogs are better. I like the High Line and the Cloisters and the Promenade and the Brooklyn Botanic Garden and the bike path leading to the George Washington Bridge. I like that the city is the show. I like Dressler and Moto and Five Leaves and Lombardi's and Vinegar Hill House and Balthazar and Snack Taverna. I like that when I return to the neighborhood where I was born and raised, people recognize me. I like that you can create your own village here, and that you can disappear if it suits you. I like that you can be completely yourself and no one cares. I like that you can be Giselle or Angelina or Bono and everyone pretends not to care. I like the hidden gardens and the unexpected beauty of rooftop oases. I like that you can get almost anywhere on public transportation at any hour of the day. I like that the most creative people in the world live here. I like the intensity and energy and rigor. I like that wonderful, spontaneous things happen here.
I have lived in big cities (New York, Cairo, London) and small cities (Cambridge, Boston, Geneva), but I have never lived in the country. One day I want to experience what it's like to bring the chickens in at night and eat from my garden and look out into a field full of bluebells. I'd like to think I'll live somewhere else for a while, knowing that I'll always have New York to come home to.
(Harper's Bazaar September 2009)
Will you change jobs?
God, I hope so. Someone please hire me.
What are your unfulfilled dreams that you are actually determined to fulfill?
I want to see West Africa. I want to learn French. I want to do something that means something to me.
do you think Canadians should just submit and become Americans? (you said anything, and I'm a dueler (a Camerican as I'd like to say)). be as politically incorrect as possible.
As a self-respecting American, I exist in a state of willful and blissful ignorance about Canada. Wait - that's not true. I lived with a Canadian for a year while I was in Cairo, and all I can say is that she spoke French with a weird accent and fired our Egyptian housecleaner for pilfering her stash of chocolate chips. What does it all mean? It means that Canadians should stop wearing those silly flags on their backpacks. It's irritating. Quit it. And that's all I'm going to say aboot that.
Heading out to the farmers market to buy: two gigantic bouquets of flowers, two gloriously sweet heirloom tomatoes, one bright purple sweet pepper, a rainbow of radishes, wonderfully crisp cukes, and bunches of aromatic herbs.
Returning home to practice French for two hours. Stopped twice to answer work-related phone calls, which I thought was big of me.
Watering my wilting garden. The heat has been an unending trial for my roses.
Making a Greek salad from aforementioned bounty and eating it at the table we bought in Italy (above) that now lives on our balcony.
Sending a few completely inconsequential emails to maintain the appearance of productivity.
Perfecting my Greek yogurt recipe (more on that once I complete the taste test).
Listening to Marc Cohn's album, Listening Booth: 1970, which features covers of the songs released in that year that inspired Cohn at age eleven to become a musician. His renditions of "Tears of a Clown," "No Matter What" (with Aimee Mann) and the cheeseball classic "Maybe I'm Amazed" are fab. I have a feeling I'm going to play this album to death.
Catching a 4pm movie and scarfing popcorn AND Italian sour cherry soda. DECADENCE. The film, however, sobered me right up. I guess poverty-stricken meth-heads will do that to a girl. Please note that my Blackberry was on, so I was totally working.
Making this fantastic recipe for dinner, adapted slightly by swapping edamame for sugar snap peas and adding a pesto of scapes and basil.
