April 14th, 2009

fish jumping


We fly to NY, always a miracle to me, entering a plane with a group of others, and landing in a new place.  I find myself humming Somewhere Over the Rainbow most of the way as I read Out Stealing Horses by Per Petterson, a novel I recommend.


We check in to our hotel and walk and stroll and check out buildings and eat lunch and return to our room.  I find myself with the thought that jet lag is the head looking for the key.  It is noisy here and cold, cold to us, and gray.  At Rockefeller Center, sirens go off, emergency, drill, who knows.  Steve knows about this building and so it goes as we walk around, which is also why we are here, to attend the official opening of Yankee Stadium. 


My uncle born in Bedford knew Indiana limestone.  They moved to Georgia and he knew marble and granite and we would walk around San Francisco together and talk about the stone that rose on the buildings we passed.  Steve has worked on many of the buildings here so we look at lobbies and elevators and he talks about design and structure and I look up and down and sideways, awed at a world so different than my natural home, and I appreciate this too.


There are sirens now outside, even though we are on the 32nd floor.  Noise climbs upward and I look out with views two ways, listening to the sound carve caverns of its own.


The hotel charges for two computer connections but we can only use one computer at a time, so my posting may be minimal while I’m here.  Plus, there is a wee bit here to entertain.  :)    Another reason is that I just found out we are meeting someone for dinner very soon.   Dinner?  I'm on SF time.    

space - colliding antennae galaxies

Evening -

We enjoyed a lovely dinner.  I love walking to and from dinner and seeing all the people and activity.  Wow!!   It is energizing so now I am wide awake, even though I have had little sleep.

I finished Per Pettersons's book, Out Stealing Horses, and love these lines.  He is talking about doing the work his house needs by himself, with his own hands.

"I try to do most of the work myself, even though I could have paid a carpenter, I am far from skint, but then it would have gone too fast. 
I want to use the time it takes.  Time is important to me now, I tell myself.  (The man speaking is 67)   Not that it should pass quickly or slowly, but be only time, be something I live inside and fill with physical things and activities that I can divide it up by, so that it grows distinct to me and does not vanish when I am not looking."   

I continue to hear sirens.  I wonder if living in NYC is like living near a cemetery.  One is aware of change.