mechanical fortune tellers sometimes see right through you

thrift store window

a few new york souvenirs (minus the morbid one)

sadly, i accidentally deleted all the pictures we took on the staten island ferry. it was a rather magical ride in which, as soon as we passed the statue of liberty, her torch lit up. then we turned around and manhatten had turned its lights on too. this trip had a sense of timing about it, as if everywhere we were was were we were supposed to be. ah. we were was where we were. this is somewhat what i mean.

the sense of place

this is to be my last article for intowine.com. don't worry, i still like wine. in fact i love it more than ever. and home too. and the concept of home. and the idea of roots and years and geography.

frozen in time

i found this photo of sophie today, in a box of pictures that have been in the broom closet since we moved here, going on four years ago. i don't think it was as interesting of a picture back then as i find it today, maybe because it was too recent, and i had no distance from that time. it was a frozen moment of the way things were all the time. but to have unearthed it a few years later, it has tremendous ripples all around it. just seeing it transported me back to that time, and made me miss it, and to realize that time is indeed moving at such a pace, though in the present i never feel it. somehow it reminded me that i will be an old woman, and that it will probably take me by surprise. i'll probably not even realize it until i see myself in a photograph, maybe even a blurry one.
but i love this picture of sophie. i have never been the kind of mother who wanted her children to stay babies so she could have them to baby. i've always looked forward to them growing up and becoming independent individuals. but this picture, and many of the others that were also in this box, made me nostalgic for my children's childhoods, though life was much more difficult back then when there was no time, or money, or privacy, or selfishness allowed. i am much more selfish now because i have the luxury of being so. sometimes when i think back to those days, all i can remember are the things i think i failed at. but then i see a picture like this one and i think, well, it must have been alright most of the time.

whether

every february a small carnival sets up in the fairgrounds parking lot just across from my house. the trailers and flatbeds start arriving on tuesday and by wednesday everything is up and running. usually by thursday i've got to wait until midnight for the rise and fall of screams to die down, and by sunday i'm filled with loathing for its monotonous music and neon.

this week's rain has turned the carnival sad and ghostly, has elicited from me a tenderness toward its empty swings and pointed tents, its tilting bear ride and dragon roller coaster for babies.


pictures such as these are better black and white.
















but on the periphery of the carnival, i came around to the back of a trailer. its occupant, in a desire to make a temporary home homier, had placed an artificial pot of sunflowers outside the door.

needless to say, this warmed my heart.