I’m still thinking about that chicken-friend lobster, but mostly I’m in that happy writing place where I’m seriously hopeful that the essay will be finished AND good. I have things to say, know how I want to say them, and, most importantly, how the essay will fit together.
So often writing feels like putting together a puzzle of a clear blue sky or a blank page. There is simply no way to know how all the pieces can fit together.
Newport continues to charm me, though I’ve finally noticed the dearth of brown people of any kind…at all. I’ve seen maybe three brown people since I arrived, and they were applying for jobs at a local restaurant. After years of living in New Jersey where rich people come in various hues, it’s a bit strange to be in lily-white land. I don’t feel particularly uncomfortable (I am, after all, just visiting), but it is noticeable.
I’m not a big “house” person so mansions don’t do much for me, but I am impressed by both the size and number of mansions in this town. Some of the mansions are museums, but some of them are places where people still live. It’s a life I can’t even fathom, but it’s interesting to get a peak at how the other one percent live.
As a person attached to her rituals, I am beginning to miss the moments that tend to mark my day, specifically WNYC’s Brian Lehrer show in the morning. Without internet access I can’t have it on in the background as I putter around, and I miss that. And I kinda miss “puttering” around. On a vacation when I’m busy with activities or busy doing nothing, I don’t feel the lack of my daily habits so much.
Still, it was lovely to write outside on the deck this morning, and I’m liking Hemans more and more. She’ll never come close to Mary Shelley in my heart, but she’s good company to keep.
patricia a. matthew 