This has been the summer of calamities.
Month: August 2011
Weather terror has passed in the Big Apple.
First, the obvious: I’m not accepting being away from New York. I vacillate between despair and hope with a dizzying rapidity. That doesn’t mean I’m not taking pleasure in small things here: I’m riding my bike to a local job, and the sight of a cardinal-couple flitting around the greenry of a garden is quite lovely. Easy access to a BBQ, a terrace, and a posturpedic bed are excellent. But here is not New York. And I miss the stinky, hot, frustrating massive mess of it all. To say I’m sad I left behind my life there would be a gross understatement; I want late tequila nights and prosecco-filled afternoons and fragrant green-chili early evenings and blinding rooftop July 4ths and the busy buzzy ball-breaking brilliance of Times Square at 2am. Becoming accustomed to isolation and inertia … is not an option.
A Greyhound bus travelling from NYC to St. Louis overturned early this morning on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, injuring over two dozen people. One woman was briefly pinned underneath the bus, and at least 25 of the 29 passengers were injured; three of the injured were transported by air to nearby hospitals. According to Bill Capone, the Turnpike’s director of communications,”The bus overturned and we don’t know what caused it. According to the state police, no other vehicle was involved in the accident.”
I will never, ever forget my bus ride down to New York. I’d taken it many times in the past, as a much younger woman, but hadn’t done any long-haul travel on one until this past March. The trip through the dense, scary darkness of Upstate New York was made all the more frightening by lashing rain, strong winds, and, dauntingly, a bus driver who seemed to be trying out for the Grand Prix Monaco (or is that Montreal? Or Daytona, perhaps?). The whole “we-don’t-know-what-caused-it”-dance doesn’t fly after experiencing that kind of hair-rising ride. My heart was in my throat for much of the bumpy, noisy, rough overnight journey.
One of the happiest memories of my time in New York City involves attending a taping of The Colbert Report last week.
I would not take this thing, if it lay by the highway. Not were Minas Tirith falling in ruin and I alone could save her, so, using the weapon of the Dark Lord for her good and my glory. No, I do not wish for such triumphs, Frodo, son of Drogo.
Thinking back to Stephen Colbert quoting these lines to me feels like a kind of lesson, and warning; when it would be most easy to give in to ego, to sadness, to self-pity and fantastical escapism… don’t. It’s not the right thing to do. It’s more noble to go the hard (if honest) route. It’s more authentic, too.