Hello lovely winter spirits, nearly naked branches and moss covered rocks, I’ve been meaning to write for so long, and, alas at the airport returning from the East coast tour, surrounded by every one from every other land but this, I’m finding a moment. How romantic are New York, the hills of New Jersey, the stone towns on Pennsylvania and the Majestic Hudson Valley near the jingle and jangle of the holiday lights?
I just discovered we made it through security at good old JFK with a bottle full of cough syrup-4 ounces. Gigi went to TSA to show them and they said its legal ‘cause it’s over the counter. What? If I were a terrorist…
I want to highlight a person and a place from this tour, the woman is Amy Connolly, I hope she gets all she wants from this life (that’s good for her). She was the mostess and the Stanhope House was a wonderful surprise. Also, the abandoned barn on country road 517 in Panther Valley. Stopped my heart. We even went there at night for a Blair Witch moment.
I didn’t want to do this tour, I’ll admit it, but I loved it. May I tell you my secret desire? I want to buy a railroad house in Philly, or an abandoned barn, nature is deep, deeper than pavement, and yet, I can’t be too long in one without craving the other. That’s why the East coast is so wondrous, cause there are places where you can really be in forest and field and then go into an old town/city (everything is a town compared to NYC) and have a bagel with joe on a stoop, and stare into the glitter in the pavement until you’re there. There is home. Home is a glittery pavement.
Speaking of NYC, she’s never been more majestic, more golden, more like Meryl Streep as she has become, or Vanessa Redgrave. As the lion of winter strips her down, more like Vanessa. That’ll do. Must board now. Much love and more to come.