A trip back in time nearly seven years: back to New York City as a childless couple, with time and energy to spare. Returning to our kids and lives will be like putting on my favorite jeans, but remembering the feelings of walking arm in arm down a subway tunnel with Kate … priceless.
Here’s the opening paragraph to the piece I wrote for McSweeney’s. Full text at the link above.
He’d been her only friend in the desert, and by way of recompense, she’d shot
him in the head, right between the eyes. It was the kindest thing she could
think of at the time, and he’d fallen like four felled pines. She is a tall
woman, dressed in black and white, and alone, now. Her mission wavers,
ghostly and insubstantial with the heat haze already rising from the sand
dunes halfway to the horizon. She straightens her rumpled skirt, feels the
lump on the back of her head, checks her watch. 8:37 a.m.
Sometime over the weekend, conversation turned to various images which have achieved legendary status online as “shock sites.” Images so gross, so perplexing, so … nasty … as to be burned indelibly into the mind of everyone who has ever seen them.
On hearing about these images, Kate’s curiousity got the better of her; I documented the results.
Caught a great sunset view of Mt. Ascutney over the barn’s shoulder, during the tail end of a snow shower.
We got home this afternoon at 3:30, only about 15 hours later than we thought we’d be arriving. (Thanks to the Dep’t of Immigration and USAir for nearly doubling the return trip’s length.)
We arrived to a marvellously clean house, supportive friends, a weirdly early sunset, phenomenonally psyched cats, and, wonder of wonders, a hot shower.
We’ll do up a full-on trip report eventually, combining our pictures and our audio diaries, but for tonight, it’s time to start whittling down the jetlag.