On the drive up to New Hampshire I was emotional, especially near the end, when what little urban life I had seen on the trip gave way entirely to the rural landscape. I felt something collapse in me, but maybe that was good. Something intense had been propping me up for a while now. I should be happy that it’s gone.

But it’s so beautiful here, whatever it was that was going on with me, I’ve now shaken it off entirely. The land and the house remind me of a few places I’ve spent time before. Napa, for one, where I wrote my first book. John and Bernie were newly together then, and they graciously invited me to live for the summer in a sweet cottage on John’s land. Bernie and Isa were in one house, and John’s mother, Hesper, also a writer, was in the other, while John was in Los Angeles, working on “Arrested Development.” (Goddamn, that was a lot of powerful female energy in one place. It’s a wonder we didn’t start a forest fire.)

A whole summer to write! I had no clue what I was doing – really, I had no business writing a book, but then really who does? – but I took it seriously as the gift it was. I was spending time with a dog then, too, a Tibetan Mastiff who was a real piece of work, but sweet to me when we went for hikes. Now John and Bernie are divorced, and that dog passed away a few years back. I still have the book I wrote, though. I’ll never be able to thank them enough for that, even if they are now apart from each other. What would have happened to me if I had never had that summer? Without that support? Nowhere.

It’s buggy here, and quiet, and sometimes the dog barks at nothing. I feed him bits of chicken and he licks my fingers. I think I might have seen a wild turkey or perhaps a pheasant, last night, just before dusk wandering around in the field outside of the house. I’m reading Herzog, and I promise not to feel sorry for myself again for a very long time.

(05/19/11) | 2 Comments »