I spent yesterday on the roof writing, and eating fresh sour dough from the local French bakery… with various international smelly cheeses,
fig paste and a few beers…
Viva weekends!
I’ve ranted about the roof quite a bit lately. Something about being up there makes me feel settled. When I said in 2009 that I was going to New York City to bust a life as a Writer and smack out a novel… I never imagined finishing off chapters from a private roof terrace in midtown.
For real.
Maybe after I finish the book I’m doing, I’ll write one about how I actually swung that.
When I was little, and I would visit Manhattan from our country home 80 miles north… living here seemed 
impossible. It was something that rich business people did, not middle-class country kids growing up in the sticks-y part of Connecticut.
I remember talking to my first husband’s 88 year old nanna once. She said, “The thing about age, is your mind doesn’t change. Your body breaks down, but what’s upstairs stays the same.”
I like how this quality keeps me feeling astonished. I guess all the years I spent being married made me feel like I needed someone. I’ve learned that certain humans are nice to keep in company, but I’m lucky enough to know that when it really comes down to it – we’re all capable of independently creating whatever life we please, as long as you keep control of your mind. I think Earth makes that hard to do sometimes. Karma is also another complicated, difficult element of survival on this planet.
Never the less – I’m endeavoring to keep control of my head. That means finishing this bloody book. I’m sticking to a July deadline. I’ve put out poetry the last three Julys… this year it’s novel time!
Back to the roof!