Last week was all about spending time with East Coast relatives, reflecting on my writing project, and energizing my spirit.
I fell in love all over again with the New England countryside. In many ways, it’s the antithesis of California: established neighborhoods, traditional architecture, lush foliage, ever-changing weather, fill in the blanks. Although I’m very much a California girl, I’d love to own a cottage in the area. Look at these flowers from our Sunday outing…can you see why I’m so smitten?
Last Tuesday, I mentioned that I’d put together some sample pages, bird by bird, ala Anne Lamont. But over the past several days, I’ve been plucking those birds down to their goose-pimply carcasses and rearranging their feathers. I don’t want to lose my forward momentum, but I believe getting this chapter right will help subsequent chapters take wing.
Page Six-ish sidetrip: The reclusive rich (think Henry Kissinger, Meryl Streep, Diane von Furstenburg, and Oscar de la Renta) have homes in rural western Connecticut, where my in-laws live. But as I’m learning, even this tranquil region has its share of scandalous intrigues. For example, a Manhattan-cum-Connecticut socialite reported a James-Bondish crime late last week. She told investigators that intruders bound her and her companion, pulled hoods over their heads, ransacked the house, and injected them with a mysterious blue liquid. An antidote would be provided, they told her, if she ponied up an $8 million ransom. The National Guard and the FBI were called to investigate the incident. Fortunately, no one died; however, no one’s been arrested. Yeah, I know, we Californians generate more than our share of bizarre stories; still, this East Coast tale’s, um, unusual, don’t you think?
More later…I need to unpack my clothes, and I’m eager to get back to my writing.