So a bestie of mine phoned earlier to advise that he’s dropping one of our other bestie’s off at JFK airport at 3am then swinging over.
I’m expecting him somewhere between 3.30 – 4am.
A lover gave me Bulgari perfume and fresh cut flowers yesterday. The gesture shocked me. I’m 34 years old, no man has ever presented be with glass contained fragrance before. Furthermore, the gesture was extraordinarily considerate seeing as this particular perfume is the only thing outside of essential oils that’s really made me want to scent my skin with it.
It smells like spring bouquets, the soft pedals of flowers that make up spring bouquets. I’m terrible at saying thank you when you reach that place that completely exceeds it. Instead I shook and smiled and simply said, “Never before.”
I have seven more days of work until a week off. I’m trying to shape up my writing into organized piles for when I go and hide in Connecticut. I’ll work on this a bit before having a catnap prior to Tony’s pre-dawn arrival.
Supposedly Flaming Saddles is open until 4am tonight, my goal is to make it there for at least one cocktail…
While I was trekking back to town from Australia, I tended to mention what New York City tastes like or smells like or sounds like.
This morning, New York City looked like a sealed envelope labeled “For you”, hanging from a tree branch in Central Park. Inside of the envelope? A poem by Fernardo Pessoa.
I was with my lover when he initially spotted an orange envelope addressing anyone / everyone / all of us. Before we had enough time to talk about how wonderful it is to live in a city where people hang poetry from trees… I spotted a second envelope, in yellow.
I think I am going to write my poetry on pretty pieces of paper and hang it from trees. What an amazing notion! I’ve been thinking a lot (again) lately about spilling my lyrics across canvas. But dangling it in sealed envelopes addressed to the entirety has certainly peaked my senses. Furthermore, I am inspired to write new poetry. Words that touch and move us to remember goodness. I mean, knowingly – I write a fair amount of face-punching verses.
How I long to move this world with a few softer letters…
God how I love thee New York City.
All of this said, I will be escaping to the country this evening with two puppies and my bestie in tow. I’ll contemplate hanging syllables from branches and work on the novel. I even printed novel chapters out so I can read it and touch them at the same time…
Basically since Saturday life has revolved around Frankie. The demands of a pound dog are full-on, even when it’s a perfect baby like my little rescued angel.
My most important mission has been to have him and Peanut loving each other. It seems to be working, although she doesn’t like when he tries to do puppy jumps on her. She hasn’t quite become trusting enough to play like she did with her brother – yet.
On top of his cold, caused by complete neglect and malnourishment – I’ve dealt with dirty teeth, dry skin and fleas. Luckily I’ve been on top of my game staying across everything. Dog people. We do things.
So, Frankie’s health and general condition continue to improve and blossom him back to a happy, healthy prancing puppy.
I realize I’ll never know his history, but I don’t think I’ll ever stop wondering about it. He’s a good boy and was obviously trained at some point, he knows more tricks than Peanut even. He’s house-trained, doesn’t pull on the leash and doesn’t run away when you let him off. And at the same time, he was clearly living in the streets for a very long time.
The only history I was told is that the people who brought him to the pound kept him for a week. Not very much of a bio.
I guess that means that Peanut and I will start to make new history with him. The three of us living in a Hell’s Kitchen studio is certainly an interesting beginning.
Namaste blog tribe
It pleases me in shivery ways to announce the latest addition to our cult of love – Frankie!
I rescued Frankie from the dog pound. On Saturday, the pound’s mobile unit cruised up to 82nd Street and Broadway. I have had my eye on adoptions now for some time, waiting for the right opportunity for Peanut to say G’day.
While there will never be any replacement for our beloved Henry, it’s time for my little girl to learn to love again. Fingers and toes are crossed that Frankie can help.
Frankie is the first dog I have rescued. I came across Peanut and Henry in the backyard of a few Queenslanders who had a litter. As can be expected, raising an animal from eight weeks… and rescuing one who is about two years = totally different deals.
Poor Frankie joins us very underweight, at least 4 kilos. His nose is scratched from pushing against the kennel door in the pound. He had the longest claws I’ve seen on a dog, watery eyes and a cough. I brought him to the vet who diagnosed him with a cold. They gave me some medicine.
Life changes drastically with a new family member, even after only a day and a half. This morning he danced around Central Park with Peanut, and he spent much of this rainy day resting.
I’m kind of having a heart attack about caring for two dogs again, over one – but I’ve become quite an advocate of the concept that dogs are pack animals and live much happier lives with a fellow canine companion.
Frankie is curled and tucked in Peanut’s big canvas crate. I hope he has sweet dreams. I learn something new about him each second.
I’ve had a good run of book obsession blog family. For the past four days all free moments involve some type of click.
A friend of mine even went so far to make the comment, “Man. Since you copped that new laptop, you’re working on your book like woah.”
Over the past few days I got through around 20,000 words and concluded the session with, “Sheesh.”
I feel like the difference between writing this novel and the first one is that in the first one, I was more focussed on story elements. Cause and effect type of things. In this book, I’m more interested with what someone sitting on a bench is looking at, there’s a big shift into perceptions.
I dipped to the country for the weekend. While it still feels like f-ing winter outside, forest writing also does me good. I’m thankful to play New York City during the week and then hide out in the sticks for my Saturdays and Sundays. Alas, I shall return to town in a few hours.
I’ve been so glued to my work that even my mother had to ask, “Gretchen, what are you doing?”
“Writing a best-seller.”
“Oh good. Write a best-seller and get rich, so you can buy us an estate. With horses.”
The funny part about that is, no one in my family actually rides horses.
Maybe I’ll learn one day, at the estate. I’ll take just finishing a book for the moment, then onto the next project.