The title is from a Yeats poem that resounds with all three of us, but everyone really, as we all seek the path back to innocence, uncomfortably knowing full well it will never the same, but needing that magic to live as sure as we need water and air. It happens in September and my little human children, I look forward to seeing you soon in the forgiving embers of the firelight where we'll foot it the night, weaving olden dances mingling hands and mingling glances till the moon has taken flight; to and fro we leap and chase the frothy bubbles, whilst the world is full of troubles and is anxious in its sleep.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Where the Title Comes From
So sorry I haven't been as present as I'd like to be but that will change very soon. I find the whole thing a bit daunting but hopefully that will go by the wayside as a rhythm develops. But anyway, the title. Each year Marty, Linda and I go to a rustic cabin on a lake (the water) in a remote part of Maine (the wild) and for a few days, try to let go of our everyday roles and responsibilities and mindsets and just reconnect: drink lots of beer and wine and eat grotesquely colored, overly processed foods and spontaneously sing show tunes around a campfire, or Cowboy Junkies tunes, and most importantly, say whatever comes to mind knowing we won't be judged no matter how outrageous or banal it is. Kind of like being boys (see Linda's earlier post) but with more theory. Belching and scratching are encouraged.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Al and G, sitting in a tree.... (Marty)
OK...you'll have to forgive me. I google my friends occasionally, just for fun of course...and I came across this article, from the NY Observer, Al...f**king hilarious, Bumsy! (I edited names...)
Luckily for me, my name is the name of a famous motorcross rider, so when you google me all you get is him.
Love you!
******************************************************
Alessandra and Garrett
Met: Fall 1999
Engaged: March 4, 2003
Projected Wedding Date: May 7, 2004
Alessandra was hardly an hour into her first date with Garrett before she had swooned- literally . Yes, folks, she's a fainter!
Alessandra, the copy chief at W, collapsed in a midtown gutter after sharing her first smooch with Garrett, a longtime bartender at Patrick Kavanagh's, in the back seat of a cab going from Swift's. "I'm deadly," he said impishly. (She claims it was low blood sugar.)
He spirited her back to her apartment in the East Village-"Do you know how hard it is to hail a taxi when you have a woman lying on the ground?" he said-where he fortified her with Irish breakfast tea loaded with sugar and cream and tucked her into bed. "And he slept in the bed with me," she said. "Clothes on."
After a two-year marriage to a florist foundered, Alessandra had spent a year touring Europe on her orange '93 Harley before taking a job tending bar at the Leopard Lounge on Second Avenue. The boyishly handsome, blue-eyed Garrett was friends with another staffer and often hung around. "I thought he was adorable. He had such a kissable face!" said Al, who is 37 and dark-haired, with a sexy beauty mark on the tip of her nose. Nor was she put off by his long yarns about a misspent youth in Monaghan making petrol bombs. She began referring to him as "Rump-o." She became "Bum-sy." (They both melted into giggles when we asked them to explain the monikers.)
Garrett, 32, moved into her apartment three years later. He's taking motorcycle-riding lessons and working on his grammar. "He has punctuation problems," she said gravely. "He's always starting sentences in the middle."
Maybe that's why he let a photo album full of pictures and a round diamond set in platinum do the talkin' over dinner at Artisanal one special evening. "She was crying before I even gave her the ring," he said. They celebrated their engagement at Patrick Kavanagh's, then gave up drinking for Lent the next morning. But they were off the wagon by nightfall. "Everyone kept buying us champagne!" she said.
Following a sober wedding ceremony with bagpipers at St. Patrick's Old Cathedral (Alessandra said she's checked the wording on the invitations "400 times"), all hell is expected to break loose at the New York Botanical Gardens. The reception will feature an open bar, which is apparently unusual at Irish nuptials. Heaven knows why.
Luckily for me, my name is the name of a famous motorcross rider, so when you google me all you get is him.
Love you!
******************************************************
Alessandra and Garrett
Met: Fall 1999
Engaged: March 4, 2003
Projected Wedding Date: May 7, 2004
Alessandra was hardly an hour into her first date with Garrett before she had swooned- literally . Yes, folks, she's a fainter!
Alessandra, the copy chief at W, collapsed in a midtown gutter after sharing her first smooch with Garrett, a longtime bartender at Patrick Kavanagh's, in the back seat of a cab going from Swift's. "I'm deadly," he said impishly. (She claims it was low blood sugar.)
He spirited her back to her apartment in the East Village-"Do you know how hard it is to hail a taxi when you have a woman lying on the ground?" he said-where he fortified her with Irish breakfast tea loaded with sugar and cream and tucked her into bed. "And he slept in the bed with me," she said. "Clothes on."
After a two-year marriage to a florist foundered, Alessandra had spent a year touring Europe on her orange '93 Harley before taking a job tending bar at the Leopard Lounge on Second Avenue. The boyishly handsome, blue-eyed Garrett was friends with another staffer and often hung around. "I thought he was adorable. He had such a kissable face!" said Al, who is 37 and dark-haired, with a sexy beauty mark on the tip of her nose. Nor was she put off by his long yarns about a misspent youth in Monaghan making petrol bombs. She began referring to him as "Rump-o." She became "Bum-sy." (They both melted into giggles when we asked them to explain the monikers.)
Garrett, 32, moved into her apartment three years later. He's taking motorcycle-riding lessons and working on his grammar. "He has punctuation problems," she said gravely. "He's always starting sentences in the middle."
Maybe that's why he let a photo album full of pictures and a round diamond set in platinum do the talkin' over dinner at Artisanal one special evening. "She was crying before I even gave her the ring," he said. They celebrated their engagement at Patrick Kavanagh's, then gave up drinking for Lent the next morning. But they were off the wagon by nightfall. "Everyone kept buying us champagne!" she said.
Following a sober wedding ceremony with bagpipers at St. Patrick's Old Cathedral (Alessandra said she's checked the wording on the invitations "400 times"), all hell is expected to break loose at the New York Botanical Gardens. The reception will feature an open bar, which is apparently unusual at Irish nuptials. Heaven knows why.
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