Churning the Waters Like a Hurricane in the Atlantic

Today, I took a different route home than I usually do. I stopped at a grocery store to get some cheese and crackers and coffee for the first day of Strange Dreams of Nobody in Particular workshop, which meant I took the bus up to a certain street and caught the el from there. For no reason, I stopped in a shop to Christmas browse and then quickly left because it was a lame shop. A moment later in the shop and I would have missed her. A moment sooner and I would have been on the train too quickly. As it was, I stepped out of the shop right as a girl from the first play I directed walked by.

Running into old friends from Asheville in this town is worth noting at any time. There aren't many of us here...in fact, I don't know of anyone other than me here who I went to school with, though at times I wish the case were different. But running into a friend from Asheville now--even an acquaintance--is really remarkable. I've just been having a conversation with another friend from Asheville, one who also came out of the woodwork recently, about connections with people and how they come and go. And why some people reappear and why others stay vanished.

Synchronicity is strange. If I was Yoda, I would have much to meditate on. Even in my poor little non-Jedi skin, I should consider a thing or two.

Cambridge, Part 2

Years ago, when I was in my senior year of college, I came up to Cambridge to visit my friend, Miranda, who was then a freshman at Harvard. I remember walking around Harvard Square, bustling urban center, and feeling daunted by the activity, the scope. I remember walking through Harvard Yard among the dorms of brilliant students, the halls of academia, the library, and feeling--in my then very insecure way--like I had absolutely no business being there, no right to walk around among the great minds of my generation.

Today, I walked through Harvard Yard again for the first time since my visit with Miranda. I sat in the same tea shop where I met her here on Brattle Street, in the same seat, and drank possibly the same cup of tea I'd had. I walked through Harvard Yard, past her dorm, past the library. It's all as I remember it. Nothing has changed, except that, woefully, Miranda is nowhere near Cambridge anymore, and that I felt perfectly in my right place.

babies, babies, everywhere...
My niece, who for the time being is possibly named Maude, but whose name is really indeterminate, is doing just fine. She has learned very quickly how to breast feed (interesting side note: babies have to learn to breast feed...they don't know how to do it instinctively...weird, huh?), and remains incredibly cute. Which is actually quite rare for newborns, who tend to look a little like squished Jack o' lanterns for the first couple of days.

Not at all apropos of my Jack o' lantern remark, I went to visit with Sam and Terry and their boy, Nathaniel today. He's a healthy ten pounds after three months of life and is very talkative. He's even beginning to make basic sorts of language sounds, which I didn't think babies could do until much later in their babyhood. So, well done, Nathaniel. Sam and Terry are taking very well to parenthood.

So many babies here. I've never been a giant fan of babies, except in the abstract, but--and perhaps this is because I have a certain familial closeness to these two (at heart, if not entirely by blood)--I couldn't get enough of Maude and Nate. It kind of makes me want to move here.

I'm heading to Philly tomorrow. Thanksgiving's going to seem like a really drab affair by contrast to all of this. Just another feast holiday, the same one we had last year.

Cambridge

This morning, after a long last night of rearranging my flight and last-minute packing, I got up early, went to work for an hour and a half, and then left to catch a 10:55 flight out to Boston. I got here at two, right as my niece came into the world, caught excellent train karma from the airport to the hospital. A kind midwife led me into the labor room and told another, somewhat more businesslike midwife that I was Jenn Rossi's brother (a minor omission of the in-law) and they asked if I could come in. I didn't even get my bags down before my brother tackled me (not tackled, exactly, but I can't remember anyone greeting me with such gusto), followed by my mother, followed by Jenn's father, until I finally had to tell everyone in the room that I'd very much like the next person I kissed to be my niece.

She's lovely. She's a week early, but she was right on time because she arrived almost exactly when I did. And she's very strong and curious like I was when I was newborn. And she's beautiful. And she has a smell about her that can only be described as new-human smell, as in she smells the way we smell uncorrupted. And have I mentioned how beautiful she is? Well she is. I hope Uncle Matt gets to be a big part of her life.

We waited around the hospital for a while, and finally Jenn was moved to the postnatal ward of the birthing center and we said our goodbyes for the evening. I was entrusted with my niece's placenta, which was given to me in a large plastic tub. The kind they put potato salad in at the deli. The plan is to bury the placenta tomorrow. I do not know where we're burying the placenta, but I think that I was voted into the task because a) I'm Mike's brother, b) I'm the least squeamish family member, and c) I wrote a story about a uterus that rises up against its owner, so it seemed only natural that I should be the one to help bury a placenta.

Now I should sleep. Because my computer says it is 9:55, but my computer lies because it is actually 10:55 here, and it's actually three in the morning, according to my body.

I have a niece!

She's a Comin' From the Uterus When She Comes

I got a call from my mom earlier today. My sister-in-law is in labor up in Cambridge. By the time I get home, I'll probably have a niece. Which got a hearty "Woo hoo!" from me. I can't wait to meet her. At the moment, I'm trying to figure out a way to change my flight and come to Cambridge on Monday or Tuesday.

Call me uncle Matt

After This, Some Dreams of My Own

Sitting at home with a glass of absinthe, hoping that will help bring a nice deep sleep on.

I just got back from watching Moving Dock's production of Einstein's Dreams. By and large, I found the production a bit sleepy, but there were some moments of great imagination and some bits of nice staging, such as the world in which time changes very slowly, which featured actors moving in unison to a metronome.

The highlight of the evening was the reception and talk given by Alan Lightman beforehand, which was just plain fun because I've been wanting to meet him ever since I read the book in high school. I'm always amazed when I see amazing writers, because by and large I always expect great writers to be very dominating, and by and large they are always very giving, humble people.

Anyway, it was great to hear the man talk. And apparently I hung on his every word. But what wonderful words to hang on.

Sleep now.

I have Internet access at home, now, as evidenced by the fact that I'm writing this just before bed. That means nothing, really, in the grand scheme of things. Except that if you write to me at midnight, I'm fifty percent more likely to write back at 12:05. It also means that I can take my time on blog entries, so I can edit them for quality and the like.

Right. Definitely sleep now.

Next time: Internet games and resurrections from the past.

All Saints

As time marches forward and this blog gets older, I find myself periodically checking my previous posts to make sure I haven't reused the same titles over and over again (for example, I didn't use "All Saints" last year, but I am almost certain I have used the title "Best Laid Plans" at least three times, because whenever plans derail that's the first thought in my head).

Last night's War of the Worlds parade festivities went off reasonably well. Various Tantalus associates showed up in suits and sunglasses as men in black covering up the alien landing. Others we gave Hazmat suits and cotton swabs to assess the possibility of an alien infection. The reporter who was supposed to interview us to let the crowd know exactly what we were doing there had some technical difficulties, which meant we stood around waiting in the rain for about a half hour before we finally scrapped the idea of an interview and just decided to work the crowd. Which we did, and it was fun. I can't, in fact, remember having more fun on Halloween since I was a kid.

After the parade, I went to the Playground to catch the final Monday Show, which was easily the best installment I saw this run. There's some talk of another run starting next summer, and I sincerely hope that happens. The Monday Show is consistently the best improv show I've seen in this city. It's made Monday my night to sit back for an hour or so and see just how cool and interesting and complex people are. I would be really sad to have to say goodbye to it.

Speaking of excellent shows, Capote should be required viewing to anyone who claims to be an actor. It's rare that I watch a movie with a well-known star and am able to forget which actor I'm watching. In Capote, there was only one moment--a microsecond--when I remembered it was Phillip Seymour Hoffman acting. The rest of the time, it was Truman Capote on the screen. Go see it. I wept. You will, too.

And finally, since you've been good little boys and girls, I give you my Halloween costume: