Old haunts, new memories

In the past ten days, New York has basically been a brief refueling point where I emptied my bag and refilled it with clean clothes and promptly headed out of town again. Two places very dear to my heart -- Philadelphia and Chicago -- were the beginning and end of this extended adventure and as per usual, they didn't disappoint.

Philly was filled with revisits to old haunts with old friends and new: Reading Terminal Market, the game pieces, City Hall, Beau Monde, the magic garden, Penn, and the list goes on. A wonderful weekend of random wandering mixed with the craziness of Live 8 and the 4th of July. There's something I can't explain about being in a crowd of thousands and looking out and seeing a sea of people, all gathered in celebration, in anticipation. The angry and feisty park real estate claimants aside, the general feeling of camaraderie and goodwill is incredible. Crowds of people, appreciating the music, the company of good friends, the pleasure of sitting, standing or lying on the grass, and the magic of fireworks that no matter how old you are, never really gets old.

As I walked through both Chicago and Philly, memories, stories, recollections assaulted me at every turn. I must've looked like such a goof walking around smiling and chuckling to myself and trying to remember it all this one more time around. There's nothing that makes me feel more carefree than wandering around cities and finding places to park myself to just soak it all in. I feel like I could sit for weeks just watching the people around me, enjoying the summer days, laughing, playing, reading, sleeping.

All play and no work would be too much indulgence, however, and I found myself plunged into a crazy work schedule with my students this weekend. The long hours and early mornings aside are always worth it when I read a student's piece and can say nothing but smile widely and nod my head, yes. This is an essay with heartbeat, as we say. Certainly, it may still need work, it may still need more, but it's the moment when a student has let us in. Opened the door to a glimpse of who they are and that's by far, the hardest and scariest part of being a writer.