I am back home and let's just say that was a looonnng seven weeks.
Here was a typical conversation. Other Person: "Where are you from?" Me, brightly: "I'm visiting from L.A." Other Person: Visible shudder. Like "Oh, we thought you were spiritual. We thought you were one of us."
At first I laughed it off but by the end, when I'd run out of reading material, lost my psalter, had no cell reception, no wifi and found myself "on retreat" in a HOUSE with THREE OTHER PEOPLE I started narrowing my eyes, braying "I love L.A.," and adding, "There's a reason TEN MILLION people live there. I always feel folks who can't understand that Los Angeles is beautiful have some kind of SEVERELY DEFECTIVE VISION"...
I sincerely loved Vermont (a special thanks to Altoon Sultan for our splendid afternoon together) and--call me shallow--I also cannot possibly describe how happy I am to be back in my room with a plate of fresh peaches, figs, raspberries, blueberries, and St. Andre cheese; iced coffee MY WAY; a pile of back New Yorkers, a stack of books fresh from the library, and netflix.
My sleep cycle is off and last night at 2 I watched the excellent Harry Dean Stanton: Partly Fiction. Now I'm on to Afternoon of a Faun: Tanaquil le Clercq (gorgeous ballerina who got polio, never danced again, and lived till 71).
The best part of my trip was seeing my family.
Here are some shots of the last night in sublime Weston, VT. A thousand thanks to all the many, many people who welcomed, counseled, consoled, fed, and sheltered me along the way.