— I walk out the door to go to the gym this morning and find (could it be?) a chill in the air.
— The guy collecting trash along the town’s sidewalks has on his cart a backpack with a picture of a woman in a French maid’s outfit. I’m amused. Tasteful, like a piece of art as opposed to tawdry or cheap looking.
— I’m getting ready for church to the tune of Led Zeppelin singing Misty Mountain Hop and loving it.
— The message delivered at church is rousing, validating, inspiring. Reminds me why I go.
— A late breakfast at a diner with a friend is capped off by a nice walk along 34th Street as the Empire State Building looms large.
— On the 15-minute train ride home, I begin reading a book lent to me by a minister at church. It is Julia Cameron’s memoir entitled, Floor Sample. Immediately, on page 2, I bond with her as I read this: What could be more idyllic than flannel pajamas and a new volume of Nancy Drew? Yes, Julia, yes.
— I’m hooked on the book, so I take it to a bench on the waterfront and indulge. A friend joins me a short time later and we have a delightful conversation.
— I head to a cafe to do a little work and decide, after making some headway, to reward myself with more of Julia’s book. Her experiences at Catholic school, her feeling she didn’t quite fit in, her observations about writing (Writing involved a certain self-centeredness, a belief that the world as I saw it might prove interesting to others.), how she met and eventually married Martin Scorcese. And I’m only on page 50!
— I make a kick-butt dinner of whole wheat angel hair, broccoli, mushrooms and black olives.
A day indeed.
