Madre’s the Word

I write this from the same place I wrote the previous post— on the bus, somewhere on the expanse of highways stretching between New York and Baltimore. You didn’t know BECAUSE IT WAS A SURPRISE.

This weekend, my Bearded Companion and I snuck down to Baltimore where we were harbored by Iggy Stardust and Franco…


We went for bike rides.

We ate exotic foods out of doors.

We ate exotic foods out of doors.

We both created and played Pente.

We both created and played Pente.

We enjoyed breakfast luxuries.

We indulged in breakfast luxuries.

We enjoyed the serenity of the Casa de Iggo.

We enjoyed the serenity of the Casa de Iggo.

until last night, when we traveled to Virginia…



…for a super secret Paul Cebar concert and Persian food coup! For several weeks we had been scheming this move– to surprise Jake’s Madre for her birthday. Once the jig was up and hugs were exchanged along with great laughter and smiling, piles of rice were eaten, dances were danced, and everyone got down.




Many thanks to Ingrid for masterminding the plan, to Franco for scooping us up and cruising us past rivers and under bridges, to the both of them for the eggs and the fry-ums and patterned tablecloths and fresh flowers and movie nests and pool tournaments, and to the Parentes de Ingrid and Jake for their warmth and their generosity and their dance moves and, of course, their birthdays.

So, as I mentioned previously, we are currently on the bus (aren’t we always on the bus?), charging through Delaware pine forests thick with fog and when we cross bridges there is just an expanse of white, no beginning and no end. Outside the window is plain paper, a snow field, polar fur.

Examining what little of the wilds is visible from these obscured highway windows, my heart sinks and tugs to think of tunneling once more under those dirty Hudson waters, re-birthed again into that shining dirty city of lights that burn all day and all night. There are good things: there are friends, puppies, bowls of soup, safe places to sleep. There is Olive, there is our tree. But there is always something lonesome in returning.

Let us focus on the good things. Submissions from just some of the people who make New York worth New Yorking.


This picture is actually from Baltimore– an image of Gustav, the ninja cat kept by Chris’ Baltimorian brother.


from KAT


I knew I loved you before I met you.

from ROY


About bearicaquinn

Smallish, smushy in the sad parts, certainly destined for cat-lady-dom. Enjoys boats, bikes, black coffee, pug faces, sourdough bread, the morning when you have slept long enough, beards, mountainsides, art, rooftops, etc. Will continue to live in things that are interestingly shaped. So octopus.
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