My Little Golden Book of Phobias

Alright. I leave tomorrow. I have a towering pile of small bills beside my computer. I have continued to eat everything in sight. Ice cream, pizza, more ice cream, cookies, watermelon (?). And tonight an email from one of the midwives currently in Haiti says we can buy fruit in the market. WHAT MARKET? FRUIT? We've been preparing to live on dried soup and raw oatmeal. Which is it, people? High anxiety. I admit it. Fortunately there is zanax for the plane.

My younger child just called from the airport. She's returning from NYC. She loves it there. Oh yes. It is the best city in the world if you don't mind not having any trees or a garden, which I would mind. Otherwise, it's most amazing. Once I saw a woman with hair down to her calves. She was talking toward me. As she passed, I turned to watch her walk away, her cascade of black hair swaying behind her. Only in New York.

New York. Carnegie Hall. Radio City Music Hall. Lincoln Center. The Met. MOMA. Central Park. Bagels. Knishes. The NYTimes. WBAI.