the weekend away

the funny thing about blogging, when you do it the way i do - made up of day-in-the-life vingets - is that your material is your life, and when things go horribly wrong in your life, you're forced to share something that you normally would have kept to yourself.

i get, now, why lots of writers, just blog about writing or books they read.

lately, (hello nyc lesson #340,023) i've discovered that i don't have a lot of filters in place. i share way more than other people do, never seeing what the harm is. not until later when i feel overly exposed and creeped out, i realize the harm was to myself.

i'm babbling. but i don't want to write this post. there is no good way to talk about this weekend. my writer's retreat getaway was truly awful and also marvelous. it deserves two blogs, but i don't want to put off one topic or extend the other. so as they were in life, messily overlapping, they will be here too.


the marvelous will come first, because otherwise the awful part wipes it all away.


being in someplace beautiful always makes me wonder why i've ever chosen to live in nyc. and while my answer has to do with trees grow and change slowly, seasonally, while the city is in constant movement, the truth is that i haven't found my country yet. so for now, it's nyc. but i will always question my location, location, location, when i'm encountered with views like this:

at home, my routine is to wake up, put on coffee and immediately get to writing. usually by noon, i feel squirly, needing to see sunshine. by three, i need to get out of the apartment. maybe it has something to do with seeing concrete when i look out my windows or maybe it has something to do with the solidarity of my environment, but with other writers around, keeping to the exact same schedule, i felt happy, at peace and uber-productive. i never once felt there was something else i ought to be doing (the way i constantly feel in nyc). and writing didn't feel frivolous, it felt like the most important work i could possibly be doing.

at one point, Gina looked up as we sat in silence, clacking away, and said, "I'm so happy right now!" it was a mutual feeling. maybe it looks nerdy and strange to anyone else, but to a writer? this right here is heaven:

okay, maybe it did get a little nerdy at night...

that's right, nothing spells good times like a fire, marshmallows and editing.

in between all the writing, and thinking about my book, and talking about my books with the girls, we did two of my other favorite things. (okay, i have many favorite things, but we'll say the following two are top five). first, whenever we felt fried we'd take a long exploratory walk.

fyi the Poconos are beautiful and a wee bit strange. first, the street names are written on utility poles and would win top prize in an onomatopoeia contest.

meanwhile, Pocono residents all have a weird bear fetish.

they are everywhere. hiding behind rocks...

climbing trees...

supporting the Buffalo Bills...

and in general just taking up a lot of space....

fyi next time you're curious -
who actually buys those chainsaw sculptures?
you'll know, it's this guy.

but besides the bears and super odd lenghty addresses, there is beauty everywhere. and unlike (or just like) nyc you don't have to look very hard to find it...

the funny thing about taking adventure walks with a bunch of other bloggers is that when you get to your destination, feelings of awe and triumph are quickly imposed upon by the need to take the perfect blog post picture...

and the funny thing about taking adventure walks with YA and Middlegrade writers is that when you find a tiny door on the back of your cabin you all go: OOOOOHHHH! and think of story ideas...

my second favorite thing about retreating with other writers is that when feeling squirrely or needing a break? we snacked. and what i actually mean to say is, WE SNACKED.

yes, that is the big tub o hummus. booyah!

big breakfasts were followed by bowls of chips were followed by grapes and cookies were followed by cheese were followed by dinner were followed by more chips and cookies. for me?

heaven. heaven in a small white bowl with an ever changing filling.

i couldn't ask for a more perfect weekend. since it wasn't at all expensie, we've agreed to do it more frequently. i'm leaving here with 90 newly written pages, a more passionate dedication to both of my new book ideas (why not write two books at the same time?), and a wonderment that i don't always live in a place that is sunny, beautiful and conducive to a calm, happy, productive corrie.

quite honestly, and maybe this is again too much information, but I'm not looking forward to going home.

the awful has to do with my Bruno. the very first night i was away, he bit my sister. i didn't know about it until the second day after he went after her again and she finally called me in tears. my worst fear came true. i haven't seen the pictures my sis took of her arm. she tells me she's fine, but shaken and sore.

two and a half hours away in the Poconos, after considering taking a bus back home to be the one to walk into my apartment and calm him down, i called the shelter that i adopted him from instead. an hour later, they went to my apartment and took Bruno away.


i left him too soon. and yes, he might have just done this to me or someone else down the line. yes, what's the point of having a dog that's too violent to leave comfortably with someone else. yes, this all could have ended a lot worse. but i knew, knew that it was too soon to leave him with someone else. so i essentially let everyone involved down. because i knew the disturbance in his very new, yes stable, but still very new life, was more than his very tempermental personality could take.


so while i was in the middle of a fabulous weekend retreat, my sister got hurt and my doggie was dragged out of my house and shipped back to his shelter.

i hope he's okay. tho i feel oddly guilty calling the shelter to find out. and me? no filter me? i feel foolish, guilty, and angry at the world.

on down the road...

Harlem.
i've been in nyc for 3.5 years and i've never gone. commute wise, it's further than Buffalo is from Rochester. but more than that, i've never had a reason to go. sure i'd read about great restaurants. but there are lots of terrific new restaurants an hour and half closer to my house.

on Wednesday, all that changed.

a month ago, i sighed up for NYCares a volunteer collective in the city that's pretty cool. every week they post tons of events that need volunteers. usually it's a one time deal, so the commitment level is minimal plus you get to participate in lots of diverse projects.

i chose to "over winter" a rose garden in Harlem, which means cutting back perennials, planting bulbs, and in this instance going wayyyy uptown.

stepping off the train, i ran into (no, not literally) a man selling sweet tea, lemonade, and fruit punch from three giant plastic vats that were sitting on top of a busted looking shopping cart. nice. even better? a woman was buying it.

that was it. signed sealed delivered. i was in love.

Harlem might be the best place on earth. first of all, every street i saw looked like this:

so basically, it looks like Park Slope but with a Manhattan vibe.

the day was sunny and warm. my volunteer site wasn't far from the train, but i saw a little of Harlem's restaurant row on Lenox Avenue (which further down in the city is known as 6th Avenue). in Harlem, the sidewalks are wide, the Avenues are tree-lined, the rents are supposedly still affordable.

volunteering was terrific. it reminded me of my Buffalo days. the woman who revived the Harlem Rose Garden, Caroline, did so for the same reasons i started community organizing -- self-interest. the building she owns is right across the street from the plot of land where the city planned to build a high rise.

but a little self-interest in your property and neighborhood leads to good things for everyone because what in 1992 was a vacant lot filled with building debris, is now this:

three hours later, the garden was winter ready. i'd spent time talking with a VERY chatty Korean chica who was visiting the states before finishing her degree and, you know, decided to volunteer while she was here. pretty awesome. i watched enviously as Caroline chatted with a revolving door of neighbors who came through to say hello. i remember having that connection with my old neighborhood. sometimes it was exhausting. more often, it felt great.

mostly though, i found ways to garden near Felix.

Mom, be prepared for Corrie's hard sell on why you should immediately adopt a pug. they might be the best dogs ever.

main thoughts? i could live in Harlem. sure, i'd need to take more trips up there first, and yes, it's really far from everyone i know and love here, but it felt good, right, being there.

but all good things... and a quick train trip, i was back to Union Square for a friend's birthday dinner at ABC Kitchen.

i arrived at the restaurant only to find that the entire place was closed. not strange, because my restaurant doesn't open until immediately before serving either. the burly men standing outside with ear pieces? also not strange. i figured they were doormen.

so yes, i was the first person in the restaurant when the doors opened because i am always unforgivably horrifically early. and yes, i said i'd take the table instead of waiting at the bar because i wanted to sit down.

which meant that for about ten minutes, i was alone in the restaurant, sitting immediately next to......

Jay Z.

i shite you not.

"oh dear," i laughed, picking up my menu, wishing i hadn't just come from gardening and worn something more spectacular than A FRICKIN' T-SHIRT. not like i wanted to pick up Jay Z, i know, hello Beyonce, life of jets, yachts, supermodels. meanwhile, i can't even spell yatch. but why the hell didn't i bring my cool Spain skirt to change into?Jay Z would be all: i'm gonna buy that nice girl in the nice skirt dinner. or a fancy cocktail. um. no. didn't happen. whatever.

so there i sat. casting tiny glances at Sir Z and the two enormous gold chains that hung from neck to belly that would probably sustain my current lifestyle for at least 5 years or so, until it finally occurred to me to wonder who he was dining with.

i laughed again.

hello Kanye West.

nice jacket. did you wear it while volunteering today? oh no, right. just to your fancy music awards thingy.

so yes. it was quite a day. throughout dinner, whenever i tried to look at my birthday celebrating friend, Jay Z's head was sitting on her shoulder. at one point our eyes met, and mine did the horrible crikey!-i-just-made-eye-contact-with-jay-z flick away thing. sigh. and she's wearing a t-shirt, he probably thought.

i left ABC Kitchen loving this city, top to bottom, wanting very much to expand my depth of what i was doing here, work in the city, or at the very least, be a baller. which is entirely possible for a YA author, right?

hells yes.

shite. shoulda busted this out:

(hey sistas)

row row row in circles

i got back to nature this weekend by taking a canoe trip... on the Gowanus Canal.

no, this was not the canoe we took.
i think this boats only here for decorative purposes.
it draws your eye away from the sludge it sits in.

now if you live in Brooklyn, you know about the Gowanus. it's a twisting waterway that separates some of the most desirable neighborhoods in Brooklyn. it's also the most polluted canal in the world.

back in the 1800's the canal was built on the cheap with no locks to flush it. there's only one entrance that fresh water can flow in through. engineers thought this would be enough to appropriately flush out the canal.

they were wrong.

basically, for hundreds of years, the water in the Gowanus has just sat there. here's a copypasted quote from Wikipedia (great research, huh?) that drives home how gross the water is.

"Water quality studies have found the concentration of oxygen in the canal to be just 1.5 parts per million, well below the minimum 4 parts per million needed to sustain life.^[6] With the high level of development in the Gowanus watershed area, excessive nitrates and pathogens are constantly flowing into the canal, further depleting the oxygen and creating breeding grounds for the pathogens responsible for the canal's odor.
The opaqueness of the Gowanus water obstructs sunlight to one third of the six feet needed for aquatic plant growth. Rising gas bubbles betray the decomposition of sewage sludge that on a warm, sultry day produces the canal's notable ripe stench. The murky depths of the canal conceal the remnants of its industrial past: cement, oil, mercury, lead, PCBs, coal tar, and other contaminants. In 1951, with the opening of the elevated Gowanus Expressway over the waterway, easy access for trucks and cars catalyzed industry slightly, but with 150,000 vehicles passing overhead each day the expressway also deposits tons of toxic emissions into the air and water beneath.^[6]

There is an urban legend that the canal served as a dumping ground for the Mafia. In Jonathan Lethem's Motherless Brooklyn, a character refers to it as "the only body of water in the world that is 90 percent guns."

cut to 2011. one of my best girl's is doing an art piece about the Gowanus. would i like to be her paddling partner? definitely!

i thought we'd be there on some special Parson's pass, but it turns out that on Saturdays, the Gowanus Dredgers Canoe Club lets anyone take out a canoe -- for free -- no previous paddling experience required.

have you ever paddled in circles on some of the most polluted water in the world? have you ever felt the frustration of going nowhere as disintegrating black things float past in water that you do your best to make sure doesn't come into the boat, let alone touch your skin? no? why then you haven't lived! (i am definitely kidding).

the only living creature i saw in the water was a lady bug. i pulled it out on my paddle. are lady bug legs supposed to be the same color as the rest of their body? i swear it's eyes were triple normal size (you could say it was bugged eyed, bah dum bump) as if it was going, you would not believe what i just landed in.

at one point a tiny fleck of water splashed my cheek. one of those woken up by a nightmare noises escaped my lips. i couldn't have been more horrified than if acid had touched my skin. maybe it had.

and yet? it was beautiful. or maybe beautiful isn't quite the right word. it was fascinating? nice? cool?

maybe lets say: it was an experience. an only in Brooklyn would i ever consider time spent on toxic water a relaxing, back to nature, escape from it all, Saturday appropriate event. but it was. and i couldn't recommend it more highly.

fyi the Dredgers Club provides anti-bacterial gel when you're done. still, washing up someplace else really well afterwards comes highly recommended.

casa dolce casa

want to see what three years without any serious time off from work looks like?

this:

a few weeks after this picture was taken, a friend quit her job and asked me if i wanted to travel with her to Spain. the economy is in the crapper, i thought. what right do i have to the self-indulgence of a long vacation? then i remembered the above face (who needed to remember it, i wore it half the time), and said Vamonos.

a month later, it was holllllla Espana.

this is my highlight reel:

our neighborhood in Barcelona had butterflies strung up everywhere for a local festival. the supermarkets sold wine for as little as 65 cents. they even had wine juice boxes.

in Barcelona there's a huge outdoor market. it's called la Bocheria. it's unlike any farmer's market that the States has. it's filled with every imaginable fresh vegetable, egg, meat, and fruit.



emu eggs

they even sold those fish that have both eyeballs on one side of their face.

in every city we went, there was a festival happening.

each city has their own giant people and animals that they carried through the streets on parade day.

no, they don't carry a giant corrie head. that's me!

if live music is played, all the old people in the crowd link hands and commence a twenty minute dance that involves lots of hopping and swaying. they even have special shoes for it.

in Barcelona horses hang out on balconies.

maybe because they're drunk.

people drink all the time in Spain. at la Bocheria, we sat next to a man that was having a beer with his breakfast pastry. at 8:30 in the morning. me? i waited...wait for it...until at least 11:30 to have a beer. before then drinking was reserved for cafe con leche.

i've never had so much espresso. scratch that. i've never had so much mind-numbingly, pick me up, served in a tall class or a short cup, freakin-delicious espresso.

in Barcelona, i learned that Spain Spanish is very different than Latin American Spanish in one primary way. never mind the whole "c" as "th" pronunciation thing. in Spain, tortilla doesn't mean something-to-eat taco-fixin's-out-of. it means gooey egg and potato dish that's served in the morning and then pretty much for the rest of the day.

Spanish lesson learned and heartily partaken in, next up, it was the resort town of San Sebastian.

fabulous San Sebastian. where the tapas are laid out on the bars starting around 10 am. it was the most vacationy of our vacation days. i spent a lot of time on the beach.

for the first time in my life, my bosoms saw the sun. (i'll spare you the picture.) i also got in my first scuffle.

coming out of the ocean, feeling good, and channelling my best bo derek impersonation (look her up, kids), i noticed the tide quickly pulling away from me. i wonder what happens next? was my last thought before i found out that this happens: the water comes back in the form of a GIANT FREAKIN' WAVE.

tumbling underwater washing machine style, i was dragged and thrown back ashore, sputtering, with my swim suit bottoms around my ankles.

i quickly crawled back into the surf, pulled my trunks up (only to realize when i was back on land that they contained 5 pounds of sand) and tried to wash the smeared make-up off my face. when i returned to our beach towels, my friend took one look at me and said, "what happened to you? and how come you were lying on the sand over there?"

i was still washing sand out of my hair five days later. lesson learned? don't fight with the ocean. it will win.

anyhoo, in San Sebastian there's more Michelin three-star restaurants than anywhere else in the world. since i was travelling with a chef, not trying one wasn't an option. the restaurant we chose was called Akilera. it was a short cab ride outside the city. since we'd be spending the equivalent of a night's worth of work to eat there, big time spenders that we are, we took the bus.

my friend's google map said the restaurant was a short hike up a mountain from the bus stop. we ascended. walked higher, saw some cows.

we walked higher. then higher uphill, no, up mountain. forty minutes in and ten minutes until our reservation time, my friend asked: what if the restaurants not there?

it will be, i panted.

she checked a different map. the restaurant was back by the bus stop. we ran. i tried to hitch hike. everyone kept shaking there heads and wagging their fingers at us. when we got the restaurant -- sweaty, flustered -- we sat right across from the same people who wouldn't give us a lift.

the meal lasted 4.5 hours. the waiter took us on a tour of the kitchen. it was sublime.



peaches served three ways.

we decided we needed to see wine country.

the capital of wine country in Rioja is Haro. we expected greenery, vineyards, quaint architecture, cobbled streets. instead we landed in the armpit of Spain. lesson? if you're going to buy a guide book, read it before you plan a day trip. Haro: This unattractive capital of Rioja... mine read.

we also met The Snobbiest Toronto Man Alive. when he asked us about accommodations in San Sebastian and i started to tell him about our awesome hostel, he cut me off with a I'm past the point in my life where i need to stay in hostels.

um okay. you asked. dick. then he made me taste his wine.

it wasn't all bad though. i mean, there was wine. (not previously drunk by a fuddy-duddy). and pretty cute bodegas serving it.

maybe there was too much wine.

we left northern Spain for southern.

i never knew Spain had been through so much upheaval. right from the start, one civilization wiped out another from the Phoenicians, to the Romans, to the Muslims. mosques were turned into churches. entire Jewish neighborhoods were slaughtered and repaved. in the 1930's there was a civil war. Franco took over. up until the 1970's women didn't have their own passports, they had to be on their husbands. and while the architecture was incredibly beautiful...

i swear, that chaotic, bloody history is still in the air because southern Spain is WEIRD.

paparazzi-style, a man took photos of me with his giant-lensed camera while i was sitting in a cafe. i got into an argument with a gypsy, and a few hours later a mysterious scratch appeared on my cheek. and the gelato is made with black magic. it must be, because it's so evilly good.

but as much as southern Spain gave me the creeps, it was stunning. you turn a corner and BAM! giant cathedral. or stuff like this guy. erm. cover your eyes kids.

we went dancing until 5 a.m. ate lots of tapas (they come free with purchase of a beverage) and went to the Alhambra. it's Spain's answer to the Taj Mahal.

then it was back to Barcelona (actually, first we stayed with a friend of a friend and slept in his bar) and then it was back to Barcelona for a last meal of scorching hot peppers and patatas bravas, a few more beers and yet another night of absolutely no sleep in a hostel --it's so hot in here, it's like dying, said the male bunk mate across from me. next an 8 hour flight with the gaping mouth guy snoring on my shoulder the whole way and i'm home.

it's weird being back. i'm changed, yet i've returned to a place where my life is the same.

but i found my happy. somewhere between the nude sunbathing and Spanish word confusions -- fyi Quisiera una bolsa de crema, does not mean, I'd like a cream bomba (local pastry) it means I'd like a cream bag -- i found this girl:

the one who's inside the one who used to make that other face. because i realized *ahem* that i'm past the point in my life when i make that unhappy face and don't try to do something about changing it. so maybe next time don't wait three years to do a little travelling when it makes you feel this good. and you, too, out there, don't put off being good to yourself. 'cause i'm here to tell you, doing nice, soul-expanding, completely self-indulgent things for yourself? it makes you feel happy. who would have thunk it?

yes, all together now, no duh, corrie! everyone thunk it. happiness and rejuvenation are the whole point of a va-ca-tion.

it's also the point of espresso.

hola everyone! it's good to see you again.

love/love

whoops. i didn't post a blog this Wednesday. i have a good excuse though. i'll blame it on who we all blame things from the age of 11 until 99 -- my parents! (or well, you know, not specifically my parents. parents in general. sigh. that was a failed joke. that i think i tried making once before. one trick pony.)

anyway. that's right. my parents are visiting! *corrie cheers* a September visit has become a family tradition because it means: US OPEN!

my secret: i've never really liked tennis. but my mom's followed it ever since i can remember, so i peripherally know more about it than my actual interest in it belies. growing up, there was always a French Open or Breakfast at Wimbledon on the telly. why taking my mom to the US Open (erm, technically she took me 'cause she and my dad paid) the very first year i moved to NYC didn't occur to me sooner, i dunno.

but last year it did. it almost felt like we were doing something illegal, like, are we really allowed to be here?

my mom smiled and giggled the whole first day. we had such a blast, we went back the second day, too. a tradition was born.

this year it rained. poured, really. matches were cancelled. we weren't sure we would make it. but yesterday after a few train connections, there we were at the ticket office. the attendant assured us there was still tennis to be watched (we got there kinda late). the sky opened up. it got hot. sunburn hot.

my mom giggled, this is so fun!

two Serbians were playing against each other, which i guess is rare. one of them is the number one player in the world. jojovitch. which is pretty cool to think about. i like that about sports, knowing who's the best. you can't say that so correctly about a lot of things: that man is the best shoe maker in the world. nope. she's the best librarian. uh-uh. but jovovitch, there, the tiny man at the bottom? right now, no one plays tennis better than him.

yawn. oh geez. sorry. though i don't love watching sports on tv (hockey is the exception). i love sports in person. maybe it has something to do with this:

but watching tennis in person feels even more special.

growing up tennis meant crashing in my parent's bed on a Saturday morning watching Breakfast at Wimbledon. it's meant late nights watching tense tie-breakers. and conversations about who's topping who and all the latest drama (like, did you know that Venus Williams isn't playing anymore because she's caught some kind of debilitating virus?). in other words, it's meant lots of time spent with my mom.

and it still means that. but even better than those growing up, tv memories, are the ones i have now. of us being there, shivering at night under the lights or baking in the sun. of my mom giggling and saying every few minutes, this is so fun! of drinking beers. buying snacks. taking stupid pictures (and sometimes videos). of her saying good night to the security guards. of the three of us being on the jumbo-tron in the very upper corner.

i only wish this tradition came more than once a year.

maybe we need to become Mets fans.