We moved to Cambridge yesterday, into an apartment that reminds me of my own school days; a modestly beat-up Victorian with old wooden floors, shotgun-style rooms. It’s smallish, but it’s just for the month of September, when I’m away in Tucson. When I come back at the end of the month, we’ll move upstairs in the same building to a larger apartment on the third floor, more room, more privacy.
Bri and I are charmed by the old place, Bill raises one eyebrow, it’s a big come-down from the gorgeous space in the South End. The boys, however, can walk to school, and after riding every train and bus in Boston, Evan and I realized how very important that was going to be. Kids come first this fall, that’s easy enough.
I miss the South End too, though, not just the beautiful flat, but the mellow vibe. Cambridge is mostly college students and academics, very different. I like it, but it’s not where I’d choose for myself. I’m sure I will go into Boston often, to the South End to sit on the street and eat quiet lunches with a book at Petit Robert, to walk the long lines of brownstones. I’ll go downtown, to the fabulous buildings, out to the beaches, off to the islands.
It’s been great to see so much of Bri, and especially to have seen the Constitution go out TWICE with her sails in play, and Bri high in the rigging, or up on the fighting top. When we go on her final underway this October, the sails will be off, the fighting tops closed.
It’s been a real Moment In Time.
Many times in past months I have had that special, free-floating feeling of being in exactly a right place at exactly a right time; the weightless, bodiless sense I feel when I am in the vibrating center of my timeline. Perhaps you have stayed in the driver’s seat of a car, during an emissions test? Do you know that sweet feeling you get when you pull the RPMs of your engine exactly to the red line, and hold it? I enter a trance-like state at moments like that; they are perfect for me, immaculate, and I am released from physical time.
I guess it’s a kind of balance. I can’t claim that I always felt like that this summer (who could?) but there were a stunning number of moments when all of the sights lined up, and resonances were established that let me feel my timeline, seeing what might be possible, smelling it for propitious directions.
It strikes me that anything, any idea, any insight, any person that is born into those moments will be born with elemental particles; with pathways and possibilities not available to those hatched into the Construct, into regular time. It would explain a great deal, honestly. I come from that interstitial space; I think that we probably all do, but not everyone gets hatched from the cracks, the crevices, the special slips in spacetime. Everyone can use them, but it is really hard to see or feel them if you don’t know them already. Why tribes had shamans, people with the dust of the universe singing in their blood.
The boys started at the Cambridge high school this morning, what a place. Man! We all like it a lot. MIT started up today, too, and Bill is down there, nerding happily. Me, I’m finishing the spiffing of my mighty database, and getting the family comfortable. At the end of this week, I’ll pack up my summer dresses, and head for home.
It will be Fall when I come back, my work of making and shipping books will be done, and Bryan Ferry will be here to greet me. Piles of fabulous friends are coming in for the show, Doriot, for one.
It will have been two months gone when I fly in to kiss Miss Fish, who was so helpful in the writing of the book text. This is us, working on the Wings section.
I can’t wait to SQUEEZLE her. Bri is loaning us her kitten tonight, for a sleepover with Jasper, who misses Wyatt, who refused flatly to come with us. He is being tended to by cat-sitters, and we miss him dreadfully. Our first chance to visit him will be Bill, in October, unless I swing by on my way home from Tucson, and ask him again to come to Boston. He might be ready by then, bored, lonely. Or he might be zen.
Wyatt is not a cat who marks time.
I mark it, though, as I long for him. I’m not sure what Jasper feels. Confused, likely.