-If I could live in a museum or library my life would be complete.


You find yourself wanting chaos and flaws and challenges because that’s what makes life beautiful. That’s what makes life something to marvel at. The burned edges, the scars on your knees, the chipped paint, the weeds like flowers, those are the things that make stories robust and life worth living. You’re not ungrateful – you’re unfulfilled. So grab your cup and fill it up.

The Frenemy.: Thankful Thankful 2012


Last night, I ate mashed potatoes smack dab between two of my favorite people in the world and sat at a table with some of the best New Yorkers I know and now I have to drink a red wine spritzer and shut up with the complaining and start being nice. I’ve written a Thanksgiving post every year…

It is foolish to pretend that one is fully recovered from a disappointed passion. Such wounds always leave a scar.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The painting.

The picture painted wasn’t a very good replica. It didn’t show the perfect curve of her back or the nearly pristine coloring of her creamy skin. He knew he would never be able to get it right, that curve that color. He vowed to die trying. He wanted to get it right from his memory he would work until the canvas was alive with her spine and her womanly frame. He would spend hours mixing oils to get the color just so. The way her hair draped over her shoulder; that was hard the amber color was likely to never be recreated, but he would try. He told himself if he could have her once in life he should have her for eternity in his minds eye. He would have that spine and lush hair, soft skin—-he would have her. Years went by people died, he grayed. His hands grew shaky his eyes weak. Finally one day while tweaking the tips of her hair he realized, I have done it I have created the image of her and she will forever live on because of it. As a result for the first time in a very long while he was able to let the her go.