October 10, 2001
I’ve been meaning to leave New York for so long that it’s become one of those comforting embarrassments that you carry around like a stuffed animal way past the developmental sell by date. I’ve been meaning to leave New York for fifteen years; I had intended to stay for a year. The vanity of plans in a city of such seductive powers. My friend C. is a producer by profession and as with many talented and successful people her professional skills are often evident in her personal life. While I was slowly maneuvering around the idea of terrorist attacks acting as a catalyst to pry me out of the city she was in a car scouting the North Fork for houses. Before a considerable portion of the populous had settled on flight as an appropriate response, she had managed to procure a house, at what seems a ridiculously nominal rent, with four bed rooms, a fire place and a kitchen in which you can imagine performing endless, complicated and deeply satisfying culinary rituals. Her rationale in renting the house was not to escape the fear of terrorism, it was to “cheer us up.” Producers are often in charge of morale.
I’m not sure how one would make a living out there—a job at the Cutchogue McDonalds—so weekly stints in the city are still required. But I find myself wondering why I have prolonged the wearing of such an ill fitting shoe—permanent residency in Manhattan—for so long. “If in doubt, run away,” has frequently served as my motto. Economic necessity, moral paralysis? That part of a life that grows up around you in a city as you get older: a lover, friends, the unfounded conviction that you have to persist with your role as an extra in the drama of a great metropolis? Medical needs, the ability to get a shrimp stuffed squid at 10.25pm on a Monday night? I think I’m ready to relinquish them all, presuming that the lover and friends will visit. Especially when I think of the shed in the garden that M. sat in on Sunday working at her laptop. Returning from my bike ride I looked at her through the window and thought that there are few visions as pleasing as watching someone enjoy their work undisturbed. She emerged amazed at how much work she had done.
The house is ours only until May, but I suspect that this venture that C. so beautifully produced in her producer way—with certainty, without misgivings (though she might argue otherwise), and with a deep conviction of the possibility of outcomes that parallel and exceed dreams—has finally broken the seal of my self-siege in Manhattan. I’ve been crying wolf for so long with regard to city departure and finally there’s a train in the station that permits, even encourages, those that have been hallucinating wolves for years to board.
AND its on the water!!! You forgot to mention the beautiful beach.--
C
Are you going to have internet access?
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I’ve been meaning to leave New York for so long that it’s become one of those comforting embarrassments that you carry around like a stuffed animal way past the developmental sell by date. I’ve been meaning to leave New York for fifteen years; I had intended to stay for a year. The vanity of plans in a city of such seductive powers. My friend C. is a producer by profession and as with many talented and successful people her professional skills are often evident in her personal life. While I was slowly maneuvering around the idea of terrorist attacks acting as a catalyst to pry me out of the city she was in a car scouting the North Fork for houses. Before a considerable portion of the populous had settled on flight as an appropriate response, she had managed to procure a house, at what seems a ridiculously nominal rent, with four bed rooms, a fire place and a kitchen in which you can imagine performing endless, complicated and deeply satisfying culinary rituals. Her rationale in renting the house was not to escape the fear of terrorism, it was to “cheer us up.” Producers are often in charge of morale.
I’m not sure how one would make a living out there—a job at the Cutchogue McDonalds—so weekly stints in the city are still required. But I find myself wondering why I have prolonged the wearing of such an ill fitting shoe—permanent residency in Manhattan—for so long. “If in doubt, run away,” has frequently served as my motto. Economic necessity, moral paralysis? That part of a life that grows up around you in a city as you get older: a lover, friends, the unfounded conviction that you have to persist with your role as an extra in the drama of a great metropolis? Medical needs, the ability to get a shrimp stuffed squid at 10.25pm on a Monday night? I think I’m ready to relinquish them all, presuming that the lover and friends will visit. Especially when I think of the shed in the garden that M. sat in on Sunday working at her laptop. Returning from my bike ride I looked at her through the window and thought that there are few visions as pleasing as watching someone enjoy their work undisturbed. She emerged amazed at how much work she had done.
The house is ours only until May, but I suspect that this venture that C. so beautifully produced in her producer way—with certainty, without misgivings (though she might argue otherwise), and with a deep conviction of the possibility of outcomes that parallel and exceed dreams—has finally broken the seal of my self-siege in Manhattan. I’ve been crying wolf for so long with regard to city departure and finally there’s a train in the station that permits, even encourages, those that have been hallucinating wolves for years to board.
- rachael 10-10-2001 4:25 pm
AND its on the water!!! You forgot to mention the beautiful beach.-- C
- anonymous (guest) 10-10-2001 6:07 pm [add a comment]
better not crow too loud. youll end up overrun by packs of hallucinating wolves from the lower east side. although that could keep the deer population in check and the dear old ladies too.
- dave 10-10-2001 10:10 pm [add a comment]
It's a ticklish situation.
- alex 10-11-2001 5:09 am [add a comment]
I'm all for digression, and I'm a bit of a natural history buff myself. I even think parasites are cool..... But with all due respects Mr. Wilson, you can be one sick bastard.
- steve 10-11-2001 4:19 pm [add a comment]
It was the reference to deer that made me think of the deer ticks which are a real issue in that neighborhood, due to lyme disease. This shouldn't be a problem; just do a thorough search (maybe have a friend do it) of your body, with all its little hiding places, any time you've been anywhere near vegetation.
Nice graphic though.
- alex 10-11-2001 6:07 pm [add a comment]
I followed the logic, sick as it was.
BTW I love you Mr. Wilson
- steve 10-11-2001 7:19 pm [add a comment]
so let me get this straight. bin laden is a tick and america is bambi. then dont the ticks have as much right to be bloodsuckers as the deer have to be cute? damn that relativism.
- dave 10-12-2001 3:45 am [add a comment]
we are old ladies, though not so dear and always welcoming of wolves or those that hallucinate them
- rachael 10-11-2001 7:41 am [add a comment]
Are you going to have internet access?
- jim 10-11-2001 3:44 pm [add a comment]
not yet, but wondering how best to do it for minimal outlay
- rachael 10-11-2001 7:21 pm [add a comment]