Friendship is almost as mysterious a force as love. Sometimes you find yourself asking why you are even friends with this person or how it managed to happen all so serendipitously.  Sometimes you’ve known each other for so long or so well you cannot even manage to remember where it all began.  Sometimes you realize that most of your so called friends don’t really act as such.    Somehow Kayla says all my favorite stores are set up like museums.  I like to walk about and admire all the beautiful things without ever really buying them.  I listen to the crows and watch the leaves be blown from the rooftops.  Sometimes I think I’ve never really given this town a chance.  Maybe there is more to it.   Like my father I think too much and everyone and everything given its pace seems to burrow beneath my skin.  Sometimes you need to just shut it all out.  

-Every Sunday my grandfather does the New York times crossword puzzle even though he doesn’t read the New York times nor is a New Yorker, nor really fond of puzzles.  He believes it keeps him sharp. I find it kind of endearing.

-My grandmother refused to buy German made cars.  We had lost family in the holocaust but we never really knew who exactly since they were ties long since faded; people with sad eyes that you imagined in the photographs standing in front of high barbed wire fences with pleading looks.  She used to sit me on her lap and whisper quietly about things like that.  She was haunted by the pasts of others and felt guilty about that branch that had been driven to extinction.

-I have been working so hard these past three years I think I am beginning to forget what it is exactly that I am working for.

-I have spent nearly a third of my life working at breakfast joints and nearly half working as a waitress. I am glad to be rid of it.

- When dusk comes the clouds turn into these pearlescent shapes that look like gorgeous pieces of glass you could accidentally cut yourself on.  They only look like this during the autumn, right up until thanksgiving.  I half expect to find them hand-blown and sitting in a museum or gallery somewhere.

-Right now I don’t really have anything. No boyfriend, no job, no degree but somehow it’s all ok because I’m working at the degree. Taking a sabbatical from work and hey if something happens it happens.

- I really do wish that we could send letters back and forth. E-mails are meant to be short, sharp, sometimes biting.  Somehow in my head I thought we could start this love affair through words and miles. Not very realistic. The point is that letters allow us to linger, to get our ideas out in a complete uncut off manner. A little blinking box with a cursor doesn’t really allow for the same. Maybe I’ve read too many love letters by different authors which really are incredibly thought out prettily edited little collections.  I recommend Zoo: or letters not about love. It changed my life although that was long time ago.   Ok and James Joyce because his love letters are wonderfully dirty and graphic.  I’ve giggled while reading them.