Brooklyn is to be loved, and more than Manhattan. It's strange and mysterious. Finding my way in Brooklyn brings with it the confusion of streets not parallel which cross each other often, like solemn nuns.
It's as if pick-up sticks had been thrown and their random design used as a template. When I moved to New York and scheduled a date in Brooklyn I knew I'd be lucky to show up at the right place at all.
Before living here I was in Seattle across and over and down and up which I walked so that within months I knew my way. And before that I lived in L.A. which--I contend--I know so well I knew back alleys and cul-de-sacs across its extensive length and breadth. But Manhattan took a few years and I'm still figuring out Brooklyn.
That said, I believe I am at an all time personal best for visits to Brooklyn in one week. For me that's four--three readings and one party.
Sarah Sarai is all about Brooklyn.
The beauty is the beauty. One reading happens in a shop's backyard, and next door there's a green and tended garden. Blue skies, endless variations of breeze--on-leaves and the garden. Plus poetry.
Saturday night I was at a supper party. Our hostess moved us to the backyard where her neighbor had recently set up a table. On either side trees and the unkempt greenery I think of as true Americana. The moon, wine, good people with active minds. the neighborhood modest.
Real people CAN still find places to live in Brooklyn, but I wonder for how much longer. It's freaking hard in Manhattan (I'm hanging on my the skin of nails of my teeth). Anyway, I'm rambling.
Which is not a bad thing to do in Brooklyn.