"I want to swim and read and write letters and stare at the sky. Staring at the sky is unquantifiable in its mental-health capabilities, and I've never seen so many variations on the colors gray and green." --Millicent Souris It is a week of 93+ degree days. Trying to hold up against the heat like I was raised and resisting turning myself over to air conditioning til just last night. Cue first night's restful sleep in many. Nevertheless, I am infected by and nearly bursting with a love for this season of the year. Bordering on being incapacitated by enthusiasm for another week of predicted 90-degree plus days, I am charmed by everything in sight. Kids screaming from the kitty-corner bl

For years I have heard the string of destination, "This is an A train to Far Rockaway/JFK Airport," crackle through crusty subway speakers or felt the disappointment of a Lefferts A rolling up to the platform, forcing me to adjust my beach commute accordingly. JFK plays a large, if forgettable, role in the Rockaway landscape. If your itinerary is --> JFK or <-- JFK, you will likely cast your shadow on the island before your plane hits the ground. Most beach goers forget the persistent passage of planes overhead within a couple of hours, but I consider them an honorable presence. Eating family meal on the picnic benches of 96th street under a glossy black sky, I watched the perfect string of

This week has given us some particularly hard events to reconcile. The challenge for us to find compassion and seek positive change grows daily. Winding through the Whitney's retrospective of photographer Danny Lyon, a phrase from a recent NY Times article echoed in my head: "History rhymes rather than repeats." Supremely fitting for this solo show entitled Message to the Future. Mr. Lyon's photos brings us nose to nose into the raw, passionate moments of the 60s fight for race equality. Determined faces of teens stoically occupying diner stools at sit-ins. A young man suspended mid-air during a thrashing from riot police. The impassive face of a Southern police officer staring out at some u

Looking out at an emptied baseball field through another bout of downpour, I grinned crazily and wondered if I was overly excited about spending Friday night at a nearly rained out baseball game. When I received a text message from a New York-seasoned friend two nights later who was having one of best nights of her life, I knew we were onto something. Through a friend's hookup, the boyfriend and I were invited to attend game nine of the Cyclones vs Cincinnati. Despite thunderstorms and, ironically, a tornado watch, our friend's enthusiasm went unflagged, and we agreed to take the train to the end of the F to watch some ball. Turns out about 200 other people were also undaunted by bursts of p