From Sunday

The past three weekends have been so completely gorgeous. Last weekend so much so that I spent most of the weekend in Prospect Park, admiring leaves, chatting with Alison and Gifford on Saturday and reading and laughing with Tim on Sunday. I read Mary Gaitskill's VERONICA and found it to be one of the best things I've read all year which is saying a lot for a year that included NEVER LET ME GO, THE TRANSIT OF VENUS, THE LITTLE FRIEND, THE YEAR OF MAGICAL THINKING, BRICK LANE, THE DEW BREAKER and ON BEAUTY. So I highly recommend you go out and read it.

I'm already going to be late for a brunch in Carroll Gardens so I should really be on my way; however, I have been feeling guilty about not writing. I don't know who is actually reading this, but in case you were worried, I'm really alright. There are good days and bad days, but like most New Orleanians, I'm still working out life day-by-day. As Joni Mitchell croons, "Everything comes and goes, marked by lovers and styles of clothes. Things that you held high and thought yourself were true marked by changes as they come down to you."

But I'm really not melancholy. I'm just riding this sense that everything has ruptured and changed irrevocably. I really can't put up with fairweather friends any more and I just won't.

So the leaves are turning and so am I. There's only so much energy and I would rather be joyful than be frustrated so I'm working with what I have. I hope you're doing the same.