Adventures in AndreaLand

Sunday morning, 7am and I am up with the chickens. Literally. No, not the moans of the mangy flying rats suburban park-goers call "pigeons," who inhabit the roof of my NYC prewar studio and wake me up with the pathetic hum of their need to breed. This morning I awake to the sweet chirping and cool breeze of pacific northwest woods waking green lush wet alive. It feels good to be home.

I am forever grateful to my wonderful friends who made this past week very special and memorable, with healthy doses of rich confection, awkward speeches, vodka breaks and warm embraces. There were several wonderful surprises (so great to see you Val!) and a few as-to-be-expected. I break from New York feeling much love and look forward to my return in the fall. But in the mean time, I will enjoy my time here in the quaint fishing village with all the nice white people in their khaki pants and jean tuxedos. Fully emersing myself in the suburban way of living, I need to jump in an suv and go run some errands so I leave you with a poem created in my honor by legendary poet and published author, Deborah Schwartz:

  O Andrea! Our Andrea! Hot summer’s almost done;
       The Heritage dinner’s in the past, I heard Golf & Tennis was fun;
       Autumn’s coming, early closing, 3:30 Happy Hour,
       Picnics by my favorite statue - Cat: dignified: Ape: dour.
       But O Visa! Passport! Ticket!
       Your papers are all in order,
       Soon you will leave the isle of Manhattan,
       And fly across the water
       O Andrea! Our Andrea! stay and answer the Membership Line;
       So many grandmas still waiting for their senior memberships to arrive;
       And who will lead us in that next great Mailing House/Museum fight?
       Who will remain at the bar until the bar closes for the night?
       Here Andrea! dear Co-worker!
       We drank a little more than we ought to,
       Then cut a rug at the summer staff party,
       Now you’re flying across the water.
       Our Andrea will surely write us about her Florence goings-on;
       My Co-worker! now my best source of gossip will be gone;
       Who will do impressions of Nonna; who will have your super smile;
       Who will shake that sassy shimmy; Who will have that West Coast style.
       Though not Jewish, O Blankenstein!
       Few could have served this Museum better.
       Now you’ll set all of Italy on fire
       After you’ve flown across the water.

This entry was posted on Sunday, July 31st, 2005 at 8:41 am and is filed under Current Affairs. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.